My new Christmas pyjamas from Aunty and Miss Jacobson

Cheeky to mummy so it is an early bedtime for this naughty boy

How dare you answer me back? Nineteen is far too young to have a pair of big boys pyjamas. You will continue to wear your cosy winceyette pyjamas. What does it matter that they are frilly pink girls pyjamas? Into the corner and put your hands on your head. That’s right. You will learn to do as mummy says without any backchat.

Now then, bend over for your richly deserved spanking. After I have spanked you it will be straight to beddy-byes for you. Yes I know it only 2pm but a naughty little boy like you will get put to bed early every time he disobeys mummy!

Helen Goods previous letter regarding short trousers for older boys.

Obviously I owe a duty of care to past employers and the young boys I have tutored, but I will endeavour to answer your queries as best I can. Over the course of more years than I care to think about I have been witness to more than one instance where a boy, having been home tutored, has worn short trousers beyond seventeen. The mention of the school in Scotland reminded me that one of those instances occurred there but I shall not reveal the exact location even though this was many years ago. This particular boy's mother found it difficult to come to terms with the changing, modern world of the 1970's and sought to protect her son from, as she perceived it, it's immoral ways. Simon was dressed in traditional school uniform when I first encountered him, which included grey school trousers. I admit my first impression was that of a younger boy. Simon was sixteen at the time but, wearing  shirt and tie, cap and blazer,  originally I assumed he was a younger brother.

It was partly due my subtle recommendations of the benefits of short trousers that Simon was re-introduced to them. His mother was very encouraging in the matter if not a little annoyed that she had not thought of this herself, but nevertheless she and Governess invited me to accompany them when they took Simon to the boys outfitters shop in town.

As we sat on the bus that Saturday morning, Simon repeatedly enquired as to why we were heading into town, however we remained silent until we entered the shop. Simon was most perturbed to discover we were purchasing schoolboy short trousers and grey knee socks for him to wear during lessons and in addition some play shorts for him to wear outside of the classroom.

Indeed Governess had to tan his backside to cure his tantrum and it was a very tearful and subdued Simon who sat on the bus heading home and his mother sent him straight to bed upon our return.

It was part of my duties to report to his mother or Governess if Simon failed to present himself for lessons correctly attired and that first week he twice tried to attend lessons wearing longs. Although I always felt guilty as he would invariably be punished after I informed on him, I felt I had no choice and finally Governess confiscated his two pairs of long trousers.

Simon frequently attended Church, or the Kirk as it was known, on Sunday mornings, wearing his new style school uniform and not once did I hear adverse comment from any of the congregation or the minister, who was, I believe one of the earliest female ministers of the church, about Simon's appearance sudden adherence to short trousers.

When Simon was not wearing school uniform he wore his play shorts but these were quite a bit shorter than his school ones. Made from cotton and usually in beige or brown, they had elasticised waists and he seemed quite happy enough to wear them when outside at the weekends. Although to be fair he was never outside a great deal or for very long.

After tuition was finished for the day at 5 pm, Saturdays at noon, (we began at 7.30), his governess took him away. When I next saw him at supper at 6.30 Simon was already dressed in his pyjamas ready for bed. Indeed, his mother insisted on a 7.30 bedtime for Simon throughout my time with them and I cannot deny that Simon was subject to various punishments including receiving the strap or to be accurate the tawse, on his hands and on his buttocks too. He also was subjected to the childish punishments of spending time in the corner with hands on head and early bedtimes.

Undoubtedly his mother's ability to mostly isolate him from the outside world contributed to her success in delaying his, "entry to hell's inferno," as she so dramatically described the world outside. However I did learn that Simon went on to attend university but after graduating, returned to the maternal home and once more became subject to his mother's discipline.

Helen Good

Step-son Babified. A letter from Caroline to Etta

A STRICT STEPMOTHER'S EXPERIENCE

Dear Etta, 

Thank you for your message. I am delighted to hear from you after reading your most interesting account of dealing with your son Jonathan when he was 16. I believe older teenage boys – and even those in their 20s - can often be very immature and need strict discipline and control which should include regular corporal punishment and being kept dressed in suitably childish clothes such as short trousers, sailor suits, and babyish play rompers and pyjamas. Girls are far more grown up and can be most effective in exercising authority over a boy older than themselves such as Melissa with Jonathan.

I married Edward’s widowed father, Malcolm, in 1978 when I was a young 24. I have always been attracted to older men and Malcolm was then 59 while his son was 12.  Edward was attending a boys prep school and still in short trousers which he wore at all times. He looked very sweet in his school uniform and was an obedient and respectful child. After passing his common entrance he moved to the upper school at 13 where I had hoped he would continue in short trousers but this was not allowed by the school and nor could I persuade his father to keep him in shorts outside of school. Nor did my husband believe in the use of corporal punishment aside from my occasionally slapping Edward’s legs before his early bedtimes. 

Sadly my husband passed away three years after our marriage and I was left to look after Edward on my own. Fortunately, I had been left a sizeable amount of money so my first action was to remove 15 year old Edward from school, put him back into short trousers, and have him educated at home. I employed a Governess who provided some of the tuition as well as a young lady of 19 - who taught at the house in an especially prepared traditional style schoolroom. As well as short trousers he now wore a full Prep School uniform with a maroon blazer, cap, and long turnover knee socks with brightly polished black lace-up shoes or Tee-strap sandals in brown or red. He looked such a sweet little boy in his new clothes and could easily pass for 11 or 12 although of course he felt ashamed and embarrassed when out in public. I also imposed an earlier bedtime of seven o'clock with no exceptions.

I was also able to introduce a strict regime of corporal punishment which included smacking his bare bottom over my lap and slapping the backs of his bare legs. 

I also gave permission for his Governess and tutor to spank and chastise him if necessary. His Governess was a keen advocate of spanking then imposing bare bottom corner time. I often came across Edward  tearfully standing facing a wall with his hands on his head and his red, sore botty on display. 

The lady tutor imposed discipline too, Edward always cried when being smacked but he knew it was for his own good. The other sanctions  – applied by both, were punishment essays or writing lines in detention. 

I imposed vigorous mouth soapings for when he told a fib and enjoyed making him wear particularly childish attire around the house. These outfits were especially made-to-measure by my friend, a lady dressmaker and included sailor suits, velvet shortalls with a bib and cross straps to the rear, and baby-style rompers plus various nightwear outfits.

Footwear consisted of girls’ white knee socks or white ankle socks with either patent leather single strap Mary Jane shoes or girls' Startrite sandals that I managed to acquire by ordering by post directly from the manufacturers. Furthermore I ensured all his white ankle socks had a pretty lace frill on the turndown above the ankle to give a distinctly “little girl” appearance. 

For the first year of my new regimen he adapted reasonably well and seemed to accept that despite his age he was now Mummy’s very special little boy. He was far too frightened to resist and found it easier to meekly comply with his sissy dress code. Anyway, for his private lessons he only wore his short trousers and school uniform and not his childish costumes which were confined to the weekends and then only around the house. Aside from myself only his Governess saw him in these clothes so he did not complain even though she often addressed him as “Babykins” or “Baby Teddy”. She taught him needlework including embroidery and had him sew lace frills on the legs of his velvet shortalls and rompers as well as on his white ankle socks. He soon became highly proficient and was able to make his first pretty white and then pink pinafore with ruffled borders and ruffled over the shoulder straps. 

Nevertheless, despite his initial submissive attitude I began to notice a slightly rebellious streak creeping in some months after his sixteenth birthday as though he felt his increasing age allowed him to be more assertive. I was determined this should be promptly nipped in the bud with a dose of suitable baby treatment. 

Treating him as a baby would soon get rid of his silly delusions of being grown up. I first replaced his little boy pyjamas with a very short extravagantly frilly, baby doll nightdress with a nappy covered by plastic ruffled knickers that could be easily seen below the hem of the dress. I replaced his bed with a cot and from then on he was put in a fresh nappy every evening before his revised even earlier bedtime of 6.30. 

Inevitably he was wet due to the lengthe of time he was in his cot so always required changing the next morning. 

My challenge was now most firmly aimed at his humiliation which meant dressing him in the most girlish and babyish outfits I could think of and ensuring he would be seen like this and teased by selected visitors and friends. He would soon realise he would only be allowed to grow up when his Mummy decided and not before.

I will write more as to how I met this challenge over the following years.

To be continued. 

Caroline

Peters Pink Pyjamas I am afraid I re-posted a draft version of this story. This is the final version, not much difference really but it might as well be viewed as intended.

It was six thirty pm. Sixteen year old Peter lay tightly tucked up in his cot staring upwards at the slow turning mobile that hung inches above him, it’s twirling, infantile figures appearing to mock and exult in his humiliation.

Previously, what was between his legs had been a source of pleasure to him when in bed; but he wasn’t in bed, he was in beddy-byes, and between his legs now were several layers of thick, towelling nappies that were, much to his shame, already wet.

He had an itch, managing to free one hand from underneath the blanket, he moved it toward his nose but the padding of his mitten prevented any relief. He twitched and contorted his nose but this only wiggled the dummy that was tied in his mouth and a line of saliva dribbled onto his chin. He tried to sit up, but the baby reins and those clips and D rings kept him firmly prostrate and confined to his cot.

He turned his head so that the frill of his baby bonnet couldn't prevent the glow from his night light providing enough illumination for him to examine the lambs that gambolled across his pyjama clad arm. They had become his bedtime friends and in the dim glow, he silently greeted them.

The floorboard on the landing creaked, stupidly, he looked at the baby monitor, no, he hadn’t made a sound, had he? 

Hastily he concealed his arm underneath the blanket and closed his eyes; he had to at least pretend to be asleep, Miss Kettering had put him to beddy-byes half an hour ago and he might just escape a spanking when she found out he was wet if she thought he had been a good lambikins and had went straight to sleep.

Days Earlier

Peter barely looked up as Miss Kettering entered the room. He was in his favourite position, lounging length ways on the sofa, his dirty trainer’s leaving muddy foot marks on the fabric while the gel on his hair stained the sofa arm. 

He turned lazily and gave the woman a disdainful stare. To Peter’s young eyes Miss Kettering was an old woman, yet she was only in her early fifties. What did surprise him was her height. Peter was sensitive about his height, being somewhat diminutive for a sixteen year old.

This woman was tall, over six foot, her figure could be described as matronly. She stared at the lounging Peter from behind her old-fashioned spectacles; her grey hair was  tied severely back into a bun, clearly exposing the lines upon her face.

She wore a frilled white blouse fastened at the neck and draped unbuttoned over her shoulders was a grey cardigan. The fluffy woollen cardigan had two enormous pockets in which Peter imagined she kept out of date packets of mints that she would present to unsuspecting young children. 

Gazing down at her feet he was not too surprised to see her wearing a pair of pink, furry slippers that were perhaps, a little too well worn. He turned his gaze away and resumed his previous posture.

His mother had no right to impose this woman on him while she visited his grandmother. Although it was perhaps because she had remembered the mess of the house and the complaints from the neighbours the last time she had only been away; it had only been for one night but it had been a mistake to assume responsibility would make Peter act like the sixteen year old he was instead of a spoilt child.

In any regard, that particular experiment would not be repeated for a long time.

‘I don’t know how long I will be away for,’ his mother had said, ‘your Grandmother is not at all well and I expect you to do as you are told. In fact,’ she said knowingly, ‘I am confident you will obey Miss Kettering’s every word.’

His mother commented rather strangely as she kissed him goodbye.
‘Yeah right,’ he had sneered. As far as he was concerned Miss Kettering was there only to provide him with food and to keep his irritating kid sister out of his way.

Peter was not well disposed toward his sister. His mother was always saying, ‘why can’t you be well behaved like your sister,’ and ‘your sister doesn’t get low marks at school.’

His sister also had an annoying habit of looking down at him with a certain disdain that made him feel uncomfortable. That was another reason he liked to keep her at a distance, at thirteen, Susie was already four inches taller than him and she enjoyed teasing him about his lack of inches during break time at school and introducing him to her friends as her, “little brother”, much to his annoyance.

Still, he thought glancing at his watch, six o’clock on a Friday evening, time to go and meet up with his friends.

As he got up to leave Miss Kettering stood in front of him. ‘excuse me but I think you are in my way,’ he sneered flippantly. 
Miss Kettering smiled down at him before putting one hand on his shoulder.

"Phew, I know of one little boy who needs a good scrubbing. I think it’s high time you were bathed Peter, why don’t you go upstairs, get undressed, and Miss Kettering will run you a lovely hot bath.’ She beamed at him as she spoke.

Peter stared up at her, barely believing what he had heard. He almost blushed and then made to brush past her, choosing to ignore her inane comment. 

As he tried to sidestep this formidable woman, Miss Kettering slid her hand down his arm, grasped his wrist and sat herself down on the sofa. Pulling Peter off balance, he tottered sideways and he fell conveniently, finding himself draped across her lap. Peter was wearing a pair of his usual combat trousers, but they easily lost the battle with Miss Kettering as she lowered them with an expertise that displayed a talent for exposing naughty little boy's bare bottoms.

Peter struggled to remove himself from his embarrassing across her lap, but his arm was pinioned behind his back.‘Let me go. I will tell mum on you!’
Peter’s childish retort made Miss Kettering smile.

‘Don’t you know it’s rude to tell tales,’ she said as she gave his bottom a swat with her hand.
‘Ow! Stop it that hurts!’
‘If that tiny slap hurt I’m afraid you are in for a shock lambikins’

She swatted his backside six more times with her hand. By the third swat Peter begun begging her to stop, writhing and squirming on her lap.
Miss Kettering did stop spanking, but kept Peter firmly  positioned across her knee, she could hear him breathing heavily and quietly sobbing.
‘Are you regretting being rude Peter?’ She asked as she gently ran her hand across his bright pink bottom.
‘Yes I’m regretting it. Not!’ 

Even though his bottom was stinging, he had recovered some of his misplaced bravado because she had paused his spanking,

Miss Kettering removed one of her slippers and smiled at Susie who watched excitedly from the kitchen doorway. 
‘Oh dear,’ she sighed. ‘I did not want to have to do this.’
Peter’s body lurched upwards the first time the rubber sole made contact with his bottom, so much so that it took all of Miss Kettering’s skill and expertise to keep him pinioned across her lap.

By the time the tenth spank had been delivered, Peter was a crying, sobbing, quivering little boy.
‘I …I...hate you both,’ he sobbed in shame and embarrassment as he hastily pulled up his underwear and trousers before running out of the room.
Susie giggled. ….

‘Did you manage alright dear?’ Asked Miss Kettering.
‘Oh yes Miss Kettering perfect, I’ve put all the numbers on. Do you want to see?’ 

Susie held up Miss Kettering’s mobile phone.
‘No dear, I prefer to leave all that technology wizardly to you young people, I can’t fathom all those buttons and the interweb thingummy jig thing. I prefer to concentrate on the buttons that ensure naughty boys are dressed correctly when I put them to bed. Now off you go and do as we agreed. We’ll soon have that brother of yours under our complete control, don’t you worry.’ 

Peter, known as Pete to his associates, was sitting on a wall at the corner of the street; he was talking to a boy known as Jona, Susie remembered back to last summer when he was known as Jonathon but whoever he was known as, she was sensible enough to know Peter was choosing his friends badly.

‘What do you want? Peter asked sourly as Susie approached, concealing an illicit cigarette behind his back.

‘Miss Kettering wants you to come home at once,’ she told him. 

‘Or what happens?’ He smirked at Jona, as he spoke.

‘Well, you can’t say I didn’t pass the message on.’ 

As Susie turned away toward home, she pressed the send button on the mobile in her pocket.

Peter’s phone beeped, he looked at the message. It read. Peter, come home for your bath at once or your friend will see this.Then followed a five-second clip of Peter’s spanking that Susie had of course recorded in full.

Peter had turned pale as he viewed the part where Miss Kettering began to spank him with her slipper.

‘What’s happening Pete?’ Asked Jona; trying to peer at Peter's phone.

Peter was panicked. ‘Oh it’s nothing, I will….’

Jona interrupted him, ‘I’ve got a message now,’ he said fumbling in his pocket as his phone signalled a new message.

Peter closed his eyes, dreading what his friends phone was displaying.’

‘Don’t know who this is, do you?’ He asked. ‘Someone called Miss Kettering asking if I was alone yet. Weird.’

Peter jumped down from the wall. ‘Just remembered something, got to dash.’

Miss Kettering turned off the taps as the soapy bubbles threatened to spill over the edge of the bath. She watched patiently as Peter slowly and reluctantly undressed.

‘Come along everything, you can’t take a bath with your underpants on can you lambikins?’ 

Peter slid down his grubby undergarment, annoyed at being called a little boy and wondering why she called him lambikins.,

‘Just test the water with your tootsies first, that’s right, now in you get and Miss Kettering will make sure you’re all nice and clean ready for beddy-byes.’ 
Somewhat in a daze, Peter climbed into the bath, trying desperately to cover what he deemed to be his manhood.

‘That’s a good boy, don’t worry, Miss Kettering has seen plenty of naked little boys before’
‘I’m not a little boy, I’m sixteen you stupid woman!’ He exclaimed, fighting back tears.

Miss Kettering smiled. ‘Naughty-naughty, lambikins mustn’t splash Miss Kettering,’ she said as she approached him holding a large wash cloth.

‘I know how excited little boys can get at bath time. First things first, time for a mouth soaping to clean that potty mouth out I think lambikins.’
‘I’m not Lambi…….mmppph!’

Before Peter had a chance to continue, the soapy cloth was thrust into his open mouth, gagging him as Miss Kettering began a vigorous mouth soaping.
For the next ten minutes, Miss Kettering explored and cleaned regions that had not seen soap for a very long while.

What he had previously considered to be his private parts received particular attention from her, she pulled and probed at bits and bobs and he yelled and yowled as she did so. 

Eventually she turned her attention to his hair, which was divested of all the gel and glutinous substances he had inflicted upon it until finally she pulled out the bath plug, the filthy water quickly gurgled away as she ushered him out of the bathtub, wrapping a large towel around him.

‘There, all shiny and pink, just like little boys are supposed to be.’

Downstairs, Susie examined the newly delivered high-chair with eager anticipation of seeing her wretched brother securely seated in it. 

*******************************************

Miss Kettering ushered a naked Peter downstairs.

‘Now sit up here,” she said patting the high chair, ‘there’s a good Lambikins.’ 

Miss Kettering spoke as though it was commonplace for a sixteen year old naked boy to be encouraged to sit in a baby’s high chair. 

‘No way am I sitting…’ She slapped the back of his legs to encourage him as he hesitated before before he reluctantly began climbing up.
                                                                             
Susie delightedly started to record the unfolding scene as she carefully concealed the item Miss Kettering had given her earlier.

Miss Kettering swung the feeding tray closed and locked it into position, with his arms pinioned to his side, the hapless boy was immobilised in the infantile item.

‘Now, Lambikins, your sister tells me your mummy has told you several times to get your hair cut  but you have constantly disobeyed her, I am about to remedy that.’

Peter squirmed in the chair however his bare bottom created a lot of friction with the wooden surface he was sat upon and he had learned to sit still even before Miss Kettering tied a cape around his neck. The cape was pink, and covered in nursery rhyme characters, this dismayed Peter even further but he was not prepared for the horror of seeing his straggly locks begin to tumble to the floor.

‘No please, not all of it I…..’ 

‘Miss Kettering says little boys should be seen and not heard,’ Susie smugly said as she produced the baby’s dummy Miss Kettering had given her beforehand. Quickly, before he could react, his younger sister popped the dummy into his mouth and stretched the elastic behind his head.

‘Mmmmpphh,’ Peter shook his head in a futile attempt to remove the dummy but soon gave up as Miss Kettering delivered two sharp slaps to the inside of his bare legs that resounded with loud smacking noises.

Lambikins squealed, well he would have done were it not for the dummy, instead it was another muffled response of ‘mmmmpphh’. 
                                                 
Peter was not completely stupid and, aware of the consequences of disobedience, sat compliantly as she wielded a pair of scissors, seconds later Peter was the not so proud owner of the kind of haircut that many a five your old would have been disappointed to have.

No sooner had the cape been removed and the remnants of his late lamented hairstyle cleared up, Susie set down in front of Peter a large bowl of milk pudding.
Now, if there was one item of food that Peter could not abide it was milk pudding, especially stone cold milk pudding.

He stared down at the creamy mass, his dummy moving in and out in rhythm with his breathing.
It was Susie who slid the elastic up and over his head to free him of the babyish accoutrements.

Peter had decided to drop his “tough guy” approach and take a more conciliatory tone.
‘Look here,’ he began. ‘It’s been a good laugh, I can take a joke so why don’t we all just leave it at that and I promise not to tell mum so you two won’t get into any trouble?’

Upon hearing his words, Miss Kettering raised a querulous eyebrow but smiled to herself as, approaching him from behind, she tied a plain white towelling bib around his neck.

'Din-din time Lambikins,’ she said smoothing down the bib with the palm of her hand.
His attitude changed again immediately.
‘What the…. take this off me at once..no..no stop that.’  

Susie stopped recording but not because of his pleading, rather it was so she could push the plastic spoon into the glutinous mass and remove a huge creamy spoonful.

‘Open wide Lambikins, here come the choo-choo train,’ Susie intoned in time honoured fashion.

Peter attempted to clamp his mouth tightly shut but confined the way he was, it was simplicity itself for 
Susie to pinch his nose and push the dripping spoonful into his mouth, lifting the handle of the spoon she withdrew it while using two fingers to lift up his chin so that the spoon emerged emptied of it’s content, continuing to lift and close his mouth he was forced to swallow the hateful milk pudding.

Susie continued in this fashion for a couple of more mouthfuls before Peter again decided resistance was futile. ‘There’s a clever Lambikins,’ Susie praised, ‘Open wide, good boy!’
Miss Kettering had emphasised to Susie that good behaviour was to be praised and naughty behaviour was to be punished, in that way naughty boys could be taught to be good little boys, whatever their age.
Susie quickened her pace, ‘open, open, open,’ she commanded as poor Peter was forced to swallow spoonful after spoonful of the cold, stodgy milk pudding. Inevitably pudding had dribbled onto his bib and was smeared around his face in crusted recognition of his meal. The last spoonful was a spoonful too far, unable to keep it down, the milky substance oozed back out of his mouth as he choked it back up. 
Susie, paused for a moment to sympathise with her older brother.
‘Oh dear Lambikins, oh dear, never mind almost done just this last bit…’
Miss Kettering knew, as she watched young Susie, that the girl was enjoying herself immensely as she proceeded to scoop up the remnants of the pudding from his chin, bib and even the feeding tray itself, and feed those last morsels into her older brothers mouth.
‘There, all gone. You've been a very good Lambikins haven't you? Yes you have.’  
The sixteen year old, confined in the high chair and naked apart from a baby’s bib tied around his neck, actually managed a pathetic smile in response to the praise.
Miss Kettering roughly wiped his face clean with a face cloth, pushed his dummy into his mouth and secured it. She pinched his cheek playfully
‘Well, time's getting on, Lambikins, you have been bathed, had a lovely smart haircut and had a delicious supper, now I thinks it’s about time we got you ready for sleepy-byes and tucked into bed don’t you?’
Susie was already scurrying off to fulfill her next part in humiliating her older brother.
The naked Peter, shivering slightly as an evening chill set in, shook his head vehemently once more, although, ‘mmmmpphh!’ was all the response he could manage.
Susie returned with an armful of items. 
Miss Kettering placed Peter's new mittens on the feeding tray of the high-chair.
‘As you can see Lambikins, once I have tied the mittens onto your hands they will be quite useless for even the most simplest of tasks. Holding up one of the mittens, Peter could see that the term mitten was tenuous to say the least. A laced leather cuff of about four inches formed the first part of the mitten, attached to the cuff was an orb of white shiny plastic. Miss Kettering tapped the vinyl orb against the plastic feeding tray, as Peter's eyes opened wide in disbelief.
‘Mmmmmpphh!’
She patted his cheek, ‘there, there Lambikins, you're overtired that’s all. You'll soon be tucked up in beddies where you belong.’
Miss Kettering had no problem in putting on his new mittens, trapped as they were beneath the high-chair. As she pushed them onto his hands his fingers were forced to close into a fist to accommodate the small space available and, rather like a boxer, she laced him up and released him from the high chair.
Peter waved his arms around frantically aiming a few slaps at Susie and shouting out a series of muffled complaints.
‘Mmmmphh, mmmpphh!’
Susie giggle at her sixteen year old brothers babyish antics waving his arms around whilst trying to complain with his dummy secured in his mouth.
Miss Kettering was not so amused. ‘Naughty Lambikins, hitting your little sister, shame on you, it’s a smacked botty time for you Lambikins.’ 
Miss Kettering took the still protesting boy across her lap and gave his bare bottom three sharp smacks with the palm of her hand, Peter abruptly stopped writhing around and as she stood him down Susie could detect tears welling in the corners of his eyes, still he looked comical, protecting or soothing his bottom with his mittened hands.
‘Don’t you look adorable with your pink botty, now, let’s get you into your jimmy-jams and ready for beddy-byes.’ Miss Kettering cooed in a syrupy style babykins kind of talk adults usually reserve for very young children not a sixteen year old.
Susie was holding a pair of her flannelette pyjamas she had grown out of, they were bright pink and had frilly cuffs and a frilly neckline. 
‘I bet you're thinking those are Susie’s pyjamas not mine aren’t you Lambikins?’
Susie observed gleefully, ‘but take a look at this.’ She held up the pyjama top, embroidered in red were the words, Peter’s Pyjamas.
‘I took the pyjama top to school and asked Miss Langley to help me do this, just so everyone will know that they’re your pyjama little brother.’ She gloated handing the garments to Miss Kettering.
Peter’s head swam; Miss Langley was his form teacher and all the boys had a crush on her.
Miss Kettering took the pyjamas. ‘I see you have ironed them nicely too Susie, just as I asked. You are a great help to me.’ Susie flushed with pride. Looking at Peter she said, ‘anything to help my little brother.’
Miss Kettering unbuttoned the pyjama jacket; she held it up and away from her by the shoulders and gave it a small shake.
‘Into your pyjamas now Lambikins, It’s almost your bedtime.’
Responding almost automatically to Miss Kettering’s movement, Peter slipped his arms into the pyjama jacket and stood compliantly uncomplaining as Miss Kettering buttoned him up in them. 
Peter felt the softness of the material as he was enveloped in pink flannelette as Miss Kettering took her time doing up the small Mother of Pearl buttons ensuring the top button was securely fastened before picking up the pyjama bottoms.
‘Step!’ 

Peter once again responded to Miss Kettering’s commanding voice and placed his feet inside the proffered openings. Miss Kettering drew the pyjama bottoms up his legs and positioned the elasticised waistband lightly around his midriff. The pyjama bottoms were warm and comforting  and he failed to disguise his unintentional enjoyment the sensation the flannelette material gave him as it caressed his groin.
‘I think our little Lambikins is telling us he approves of his new pyjamas Susie.’ 
Susie giggled, ‘I think he does too Miss Kettering, although it is only a small approval.’
Miss Kettering laughed at her remark, ‘quite so.’
 Susie then said, quite deliberately,  Is it time to show all Lambikins’ friends what he wears to beddy-byes yet Miss Kettering?’
‘Well, let’s get his slippers on first before we decide shall we? We can’t have our pet lamb having cold tootsies.’
Peter was struggling to keep up with events, he was aghast and ashamed that the ridiculously girly pyjamas had made him react as he had done so and even more so as Miss Kettering made him shuffle his feet into the bunny rabbit slippers that had also belonged to Susie. 
Before he could react Susie had pointed her mobile at him. ‘Oh, that’s a lovely shot, look how cute you looks in your pink jammies.’
Peter blushed furiously.


Miss Kettering took Peter onto her lap and cuddled him tightly. She gently rubbed the sleeve of his pyjamas and kissed the top of his head.
‘You see Susie, once an unruly boy is snugly dressed in a pair of girls pink pyjamas they calm down at once and become Miss Kettering’s little pet lamb. Aren’t you my sweet?’
She lifted Peter's chin with the crook of her finger as she addressed him.
‘Isn’t that right Lambikins?.’
Poor Peter was so bewildered he wasn’t sure what to do. Instead he just nodded his head, and then, as he saw Susie looking at him with glee at his predicament he buried his face childishly into Miss Kettering’s fluffy cardigan. 
‘Oh. Is my pet lamb tired then? It is way past your beddy-byes time. Susie wants you to get plenty of sleepy-byes time from now on. That will mean bedtime for you will be at six o’clock every school night, at the weekend I will let you stay up until seven o’clock but you will be put into your pyjamas at five o’clock so we can pop you into bed when I think you are overtired..’
Peter started to wave his mittened hands around in protest, tears welling in his eyes. 
Miss Kettering removed his dummy, ‘did Lambikins want to say something?’

‘Oh please Miss Kettering, please don't make me wear Susie’s pyjamas and go to bed early, I promise to change and be well behaved.’ 

Miss Kettering sighed, ‘I’m afraid it’s too late for promises Lambikins, you see your mummy will be away for longer than you think,early bedtimes and pink pyjamas are your future. Your life will now be very simply well structured when you come in from school there will be five steps to bedtime.’

Miss Kettering counted off on her fingers.

‘One, pyjama time, that’s straight into freshly ironed, little girls pyjamas for the older boy as soon as you arrive home from school which will be very quick as I will be collecting you from the school gate each evening.

Two, homework time, you sit wearing your pink pyjamas completing all your homework. 

Three, suppertime, when you will be fed a healthy meal with plenty of vegetables, there will be no more fast-food nonsense. 

Four, quiet time before you go to bed, this will usually be spent sitting on my lap just like now with plenty of hugs and cuddles.

Five, nappy time then sleepy-byes time, that means tucked up in beddy-byes by six at the very latest.’ 

Peter struggled to leave Miss Kettering’s lap, ‘no I won’t, I wont do it.’ He shouted and squirmed on Miss Kettering’s lap. Miss Kettering merely chuckled and drew Peter closer to her, tightening her grip and kissing his cheek.
Susie was beside herself with joy. She had always wanted to see her brother spanked and put to bed early and now her wish had come true. Peter’s bedtime schedule would give her plenty of opportunities to humiliate him, she thought as she watched him squirm uncomfortably as he tried to escape from Miss Kettering’s lap. 

She cleared her throat, ‘shall I send it now?’ Susie asked innocently.

‘Let me see it first,’ Miss Kettering suggested. 

Susie pressed play and handed the phone to Miss Kettering who positioned it so she and the softly sobbing Peter could see the display. There captured by the wonders of modern technology were all Peter's humiliations, well not all as some were still to come.

There was Lambikins being bathed, sitting in his high-chair, being fed his milky pudding, being spanked, being dressed in his pretty pink pyjamas, all the days events neatly condensed.

“Which button do I press to send it to all his friends Susie dear?’ Asked Miss Kettering innocently.

Peter’s sobs grew louder, ‘no please not that….’ 

‘You know Susie, I think we should give our little Lambikins a chance to avoid all his so called friends finding out about his new life. Would you like that Lambikins?’

Peter nodded tearfully, he would do anything to avoid his reputation amongst his friends being ruined.

Susie joined in. ‘I know, how about a forfeit, would you consider a little forfeit in return for not sending this footage Lambikins?’  

Still snuggled on Miss Kettering’s lap, Peter nodded eagerly and the trap was sprung.

He stood on the small wooden stool, Susie and Miss Kettering sat directly in front of him on the sofa, on Susie’s lap was her old toy record player with the yellow plastic discs. She placed a disc onto the turntable. 

‘Ready Lambikins, don’t forget we want to see all the actions. And begin.’

Susie let the disc revolve, the sound was quality was poor but after all it was only meant for babies. Peter hesitated and missed his cue. 

‘If you don’t join in this time you know the consequences,’ Susie threatened.

As she repeated her actions Peter’s thin, barely audible voice joined in with the tune.

‘Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are…’

Miss Kettering suppressed her smile but Susie giggled joyfully. 

‘Louder Lambikins, we can’t hear you and look up to the sky, good Lambikins.’

Poor Peter stumbled and stuttered his way through the nursery song until the merciful end.

‘Not too bad but we expect better with your second effort. You’ll need this.’ 

Susie handed him his old Teddy Bear, the one he had not given up sleeping with until he was eight.

Right, off you go again, and plenty of actions this time.’ Susie had taken to the role of directing her brother as well as she had taken to humiliating him.

Peter really did give his best effort as he cradled Teddy and sang as instructed…

‘Rock-a-bye Teddy in the treetop
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
And down will come Teddy cradle and all’
His voice tailed away, all his anger spent, instead all that was left was a pink pyjama clad humbled sixteen year old who was ready for his beddy-byes.

Susie followed as Miss Kettering led Peter, shuffling alongside her  holding her hand, in his pink bunny slippers and pink frilly, girls flannel pyjamas, upstairs to bed. Susie was busy reviewing his vocal performance, that of course she had recorded, when Peter's mobile jingled into life with his absurd ring tone.
Susie recognised  the name on the display screen, a malicious smile spread across her face; she was going to enjoy this. 
‘Peter? Oh no. He won’t be coming over tonight. Why? Because he is being put to bed that’s why. Yes, that’s right, meaning he is already wearing his pyjamas and slippers and at this very moment is going upstairs to be tucked in.’ 
Susie resisted the temptation to describe the pyjamas Peter was wearing. 
‘No you can’t speak to him. Actually it is now past  his usual bedtime, of course he has a bedtime didn’t you know? Peter has to be in his jimmy-jams and tucked up in beddy-byes very early or he gets terribly cranky. Yes I will tell him to give you a call in the morning, bye.’ 
Susie shook with excitement. Jenny Phillips had sounded very puzzled by their conversation. Peter had fancied her for ages and he had tried to worm his way into her affections by offering to study with her.
Susie imagined it would be very amusing to listen to Peter’s explanation next time they met.
By the time Susie caught up with Miss Kettering an amazing sight met her. Peter’s TV, DVD and computer had all been removed to the sanctuary of Miss Kettering’s room, meanwhile Miss Kettering had stripped his bed and was busy re-making it while Peter stood facing the bedroom wall with his hands on his head.



‘Susie, help me with his bedding will you? Your brother had another little tantrum when I told him about the new cot I have ordered so he has had a smacked botty and is being punished in a suitably childish way.’
Together they made up Peter’s bed with a pale pink, Hello Kitty motif duvet set, Susie was quite envious as she felt how soft and fluffy the pillowcases were as she slipped them onto the pillows.
‘Come along Lambikins, into beddy-byes with you.’ 
Peter obediently climbed into bed, altogether a different boy from a few hours ago.
‘That’s right snuggle down.’ Peter’s head sank into the softness of the brushed cotton pillowcase. Miss Kettering tucked everything in tightly until she was satisfied Peter was securely tucked in.
‘Don’t you feel all snuggly-wugly and cosy-cosy pet lamb?’ Miss Kettering asked Peter, speaking to him in a humiliating  baby talk voice.
 ‘You have a lovely long sleepy-byes now and don’t worry if you wake up and feel frightened by the dark. Miss Kettering will be straight along to soothe her little boy with a cuddle and a hug thanks to this baby monitor I have set up. Just one little sound and I shall be in to see you. Of course if I find you out of beddy-byes without permission it will be smacked botty time again, do you understand?’ 
Peter managed a little nod of his head. Susie enjoyed herself by gently tucking the pink, brushed cotton sheet under his chin and giving his cheek a peck on the cheek. 
‘Nighty-night little brother,’ she teased, ‘it’s seven’ clock now. You should have been fast asleep an hour ago, no wonder you are so cranky.’ 
She couldn’t resist one final remark. ‘Oh, by the way Jenny Phillips rang while you were being spanked; I told her you were in your pyjamas and being put to bed and that you would give her a call tomorrow, is that alright?’
Peter’s eyes opened wide with fright and his mouth struggled to speak. 
Miss Kettering fumbled in the pocket of her fluffy cardigan.
‘Miss Kettering has a little treat for her bunnykins,’ she said and popped a new pink baby’s dummy into his surprised mouth as he was just about to protest.
Gently she lifted his head from the pillow and secured the dummy with the elastic.
Miss Kettering ignored Peter’s muffled whimpers as she blotted out the daylight by closing the bedroom curtains.
As the door closed, Peter blinked away tears and stared into the darkness, little did he know that this day had begun his descent into a future of nappies, dummies, cot’s and early bedtimes and that, with his mum’s approval, Miss Kettering and his young sister would dominate his life for a long time to come.






    

   

Here is a selection of some great images of strict females spanking naughty males. The artist is Franco and he has kindly given permission for his work to be posted here.

Peters Pink Pyjamas. (I accidentally deleted this older post when editing, Luckily I found a copy to re-post)

Peter barely looked up as Miss Kettering entered the room. He was in his favourite position, lounging lengthwise on the sofa, his dirty trainer’s imprinting muddy foot-marks on the fabric while the gel on his hair stained the sofa arm.
Robert turned lazily and gave the woman a disdainful stare.

To Peter’s young eyes Miss Kettering was an old woman yet she only in her early fifties. She was tall, over six foot and her figure could be described as matronly. She stared at the languid Peter from behind her old-fashioned spectacles; her grey hair was severely tied back into a bun, clearly exposing the lines upon her face.

She wore a frilled white blouse fastened at the neck and draped loosely over the blouse was a grey cardigan. The fluffy woollen cardigan had two enormous pockets in which Peter imagined she kept out of date packets of mints that she would present to unsuspecting young children. Gazing down at her feet he was not surprised to see her wearing a pair of pink furry slippers that were perhaps, a little too well worn.

He turned away and resumed his slouched position. His mother had no right to impose this woman on him while she visited his grandmother. Although perhaps she had remembered all the mess and the complaints from the neighbours the last time she had only been away; it had only been for one night but it had been a mistake to assume responsibility would make Peter act like the fifteen year old he was instead of a spoilt child.

‘I don’t know how long I will be away for,’ his mother had said, ‘your Grandmother is not at all well and I expect you to do as you are told. In fact I am confident you will obey Miss Kettering’s every wish.’ His mother has said rather strangely as she had kissed him goodbye.

‘Yeah right,’ he had sneered. As far as he was concerned Miss Kettering was there only to provide food and to keep his sister out of his way.

Peter was not well disposed toward his sister. His mother was always saying, ‘why can’t you behave more like your sister,’ and ‘your sister doesn’t get low marks at school.’

His sister had an annoying habit of looking down at him with a certain disdain that made him feel uncomfortable. There was another reason to avoid her, at fourteen Tara was already four inches taller than he was and she enjoyed teasing him about his lack of inches. At break times at school, she enjoyed introducing him as her, "little brother", to her friends especially to embarrass him, he would stomp off muttering about, "stupid girls".

Still, he thought glancing at his watch, six o’clock on a Friday evening, time to go and meet up with his friends.

As he got up to leave Miss Kettering stood in front of him. Until then he hadn’t realised how tall she was, previously she seemed to have shuffled around in her ill-fitting slippers. Now that she was standing to her full height Peter had to look upwards to flippantly remark, ‘excuse me but I think you are in my way.’

Miss Kettering smiled down at him and putting one hand on his shoulder said,’ I think it’s high time you had a wash Peter, why don’t you go upstairs and get undressed and I will run you a lovely warm bath.’

Peter stared up at her, barely believing what he had heard. He made to brush past her, choosing to ignore her inane comment. As he made his move Miss Kettering slid her hand down his arm, grasped his wrist and sat down on the sofa. Off balance, he tottered sideways and fell to find himself draped conveniently over her lap. Peter was wearing a pair of fashionable trousers but they easily lost the battle with Miss Kettering as she lowered them and his underpants to expose his bare bottom.

Peter struggled to remove himself from his embarrassing position but his arm was pinioned up behind his back.

‘Let me go. I will tell my mum on you,' he complained childishly.

Peters retort made Miss Kettering smile. ‘Don’t you know it’s rude to tell tales little boy,’ she said as she gave his bottom a swat with her hand.

‘Ow! Stop it that hurts!’

‘If that tiny slap hurt you then I’m afraid you are in for a shock my pet lamb.’

She swatted his backside six more times with her hand. By the third swat Peter was begging her to stop, writhing and squirming on her lap. Miss Kettering had paused the spanking but still held Peter firmly across her knee and she could hear him breathing heavily and quietly sobbing. ‘Are you regretting being so impolite yet Peter?’

She asked as she gently ran her hand across his bright pink bottom.
‘Yes I’m regretting it, not!’ Even though his bottom was stinging he had recovered a little of his bravado.

Miss Kettering removed one of her slippers and smiled at the watching Tara. ‘Oh dear,’ she sighed. ‘I so didn’t want to have to do this.’

Peter’s body lurched upwards the first time the rubber sole made contact with his bottom, so much so that it took all of Miss Kettering’s skill and expertise to keep him across her lap. By the time the tenth one had been delivered Peter was a crying, sobbing, quivering wreck.

‘I …hate you both,’ he sobbed in embarrassment as he hastily pulled up his underwear and trousers before running out of the room.

Tara giggled. ….

‘Did you manage alright dear?’ Asked Miss Kettering.

‘Oh yes Miss Kettering, perfectly well. I’ve put all his friends numbers onto this one. Do you want to see?’ Tara held up Miss Kettering’s mobile phone.

‘No dear, I prefer to leave all that new technology to you young people, I can’t fathom all those buttons and things. I prefer to concentrate on the buttons that ensure naughty boys are dressed correctly when I put them to bed! Now off you go.’

Peter was sitting on a wall at the corner of the street; he was talking to a boy known as Jono, Tara didn’t know his real name but she knew Peter was choosing his friends badly.

‘What do you want? Peter said sourly as Tara approached.

‘Miss Kettering wants you to come home at once,’ she told him.

‘Or what happens?’ He smirked at Jono as he spoke.

‘Well don’t say I didn’t tell you.’ She warned. As Tara turned toward home she pressed a button on the mobile.

Peter’s phone beeped, he looked at the message. It read.

Peter, come home for your bath at once or all of your friend will see this.

Then came a five-second clip of Peter’s spanking.

‘What’s up?’ Asked Jono; trying to peer at Peters phone as he heard strange squeals of pain apparently emanating from his friends phone. ‘Oh it’s nothing, I will….’

Jono interrupted him, ‘I’ve got a message now,’ he said fumbling in his pocket as his phone signalled a new message.

Peter closed his eyes, dreading what was on his friends phone.’

‘Don’t know who this is, do you?’ He asked. ‘Someone called Miss Kettering asking if I was alone yet. Weird.’

Peter jumped down from the wall. ‘Just remembered something, got to dash.’

Miss Kettering turned off the bath taps as the soapy bubbles threatened to spill over the edge. She watched patiently as Peter undressed.

‘Just test the water with your tootsies first, that’s right, now in you get and Miss Kettering will make sure you’re all nice and clean ready for beddy-byes.’

Somewhat in a daze, Peter climbed into the bath trying desperately to cover what he deemed to be his manhood.

‘That’s a good boy, don’t worry, Miss Kettering has seen plenty of naked little boys before.

‘I’m not a little boy!’ He exclaimed, fighting back tears.

Miss Kettering smiled. 'Oh dear, from what I can see you are a little boy, now don't splash Miss Kettering,’

She approached him with a large flannel wash cloth, 'I know how excited little boys get at bath time. First things first, time for a mouth soaping to clean that potty mouth out I think pet lamb. Before Peter had a chance to respond, the soapy flannel was inserted into his mouth, gagging him as Miss Kettering began to give his mouth a vigorous soaping.

For the next ten minutes Miss Kettering explored and cleaned regions that had not seen soap for a long time. His hair was divested of all the gel and glutinous substances he had inflicted upon it until finally she pulled out the bath plug and ushered him out of the bathtub and toward the stairs whilst he was still bare naked.

Downstairs an excited Tara swung open the feeding tray of the high chairpatted the seat of a dining chair. ‘Now sit here, there’s a good boy.’

Miss Kettering placed a bowl over his head.
‘Time for your haircut, hush now, unless you want your little friends to see your encounter with Miss Kettering’s spanking hand.’
Peter’s protests were stifled immediately. Miss Kettering wielded the scissors and seconds later Peter was the not so proud owner of the kind of haircut that many a five your old would have been disappointed to have.
‘Don’t you look sweet, much better than before, now, let’s get you into your pyjamas.’
I don’t have any pyjamas, so I can hardly wear them can I.’ Peter said defiantly.
‘Well you do now!’ Tara was holding a pair of her pyjamas she had grown out of, they were bright pink and had frilly cuffs and a frilly neckline.
‘There’re your pyjamas not mine,’ he blurted absurdly.
Tara grinned, ‘really then take a look at this.’ She held up the pyjama top, embroidered in red were the words, Peters Pyjamas.
‘I took the pyjama top to school and asked Miss Langley to help me.’
Peter’s head swam; Miss Langley was his form teacher and all the boys had a crush on her.
‘She helped you; she saw my name go on those pyjamas?
‘Yes. I told her it was a joke I was playing, she just laughed.
Miss Kettering took the pyjamas. ‘I see you have ironed them nicely too Tara, just as I asked. You are a great help to me.’ Tara flushed with pride. Looking at Peter she said, ‘anything to help my little brother.’
Miss Kettering unbuttoned the pyjama jacket; she held it up and away from her by the shoulders and gave it a small shake.
‘Into your pyjamas now Peter It’s almost your bedtime.’
Responding almost automatically to Miss Kettering’s movement, Peter slipped his arms into the pyjama jacket and stood compliantly uncomplaining as Miss Kettering buttoned up the pyjamas.
Peter felt the warmth from the iron in the soft material as he was enveloped in pink winceyette. Miss Kettering took her time doing up the small Mother of Pearl buttons and made sure the top button was securely fastened before picking up the pyjama bottoms.
‘Step!’
Peter once again reacted to Miss Kettering’s voice and placed his feet inside the proffered opening. Miss Kettering drew the pyjama bottoms up his legs and positioned the elasticised waistband lightly around his midriff. The pyjama bottoms were still quite hot and he failed to disguise displaying his enjoyment at the sensation he felt as the warm winceyette material caressed his groin.
‘I think your little brother enjoys wearing his new pyjamas Tara.’
Tara laughed, ‘I think he does too Miss Kettering although it is only a small display. Perhaps we should show all his friends what Peter wears to beddy-byes.’
‘Well let’s get his slippers on first before we take more pictures shall we? We can’t have my pet lamb having cold tootsies.’
Peter was aghast as Miss Kettering made him put his feet into the yellow bunny rabbit slippers that had also belonged to Tara.
Before he could react Tara had pointed the mobile at him. ‘Oh, that’s a good one, look Peter aren’t you sweet in your pink pyjamas.’
Peter blushed furiously as Tara played back the clip of him being dressed in the pink pyjamas.

Miss Kettering took Peter onto her lap and cuddled him tightly. She gently rubbed the sleeve of his pyjamas and kissed the top of his head.
‘You see Tara, once an unruly boy is snugly dressed in a pair of girls pyjamas they calm down at once and become Miss Kettering’s little pet lamb. Aren’t you my sweet?’
She lifted Peters chin with the crook of her finger as she addressed him.
‘Answer Miss Kettering pet lamb.’
Poor Peter was so bewildered he wasn’t sure what to say. Instead he just nodded his head, and then, as he saw Tara looking at him with glee at his predicament he buried his face childishly into Miss Kettering’s fluffy cardigan.
‘Oh. Is my pet lamb tired then? It is way past your beddy-byes time. Miss Kettering wants you to get plenty of sleep. That will mean bed at six o’clock every school night. At the weekends I will keep you dressed in your sister's pink winceyette pyjamas so I can pop you into bed when I think you need a nap.’
Peter started to protest, tears welling in his eyes ‘but Miss Kettering please doesn’t make me wear Tara’s pyjamas and put me to bed early. I promise to behave.’



Miss Kettering sighed, I’m afraid it’s too late for promises, pyjama punishment and early bedtimes is your future. It’s quite simple my pet lamb, when you come in from school there will be five steps to bedtime. One, pyjama time, that’s straight into freshly ironed little girls pyjamas as soon as you get home, two, homework time, you sit in your pyjamas doing your homework. Three, suppertime, when I will give you a healthy meal with plenty of vegetables, there will be no more of this fast-food nonsense. Four, quiet time before you go to bed, this will usually be spent sitting on Miss Kettering’s lap just like now with plenty of hugs and cuddles until, five, sleepy-byes time, that means tucked up in beddy-byes by six at the very latest.’ Peter struggled to leave Miss Kettering’s lap, ‘no I won’t, I wont do it.’ He shouted and squirmed on Miss Kettering’s lap. Miss Kettering merely chuckled and drew Peter closer to her tightening her grip. ‘Did I mention that I would be collecting you from the school gates every afternoon


Tara was beside herself with joy. She had always wanted to see her brother spanked and put to bed early and now her wish had come true. Peter’s bedtime schedule would give her plenty of opportunities to humiliate him, she thought as she watched him squirm uncomfortably on Miss Kettering’s lap. The news of his bedtime routine had upset him so much that he was again sobbing gently as Miss Kettering tried to comfort the fifteen year old.
Miss Kettering took Peter by the hand, ‘come along since you are being so cranky I think it’s time you were in bed, it’s an early bedtime for you pet lamb.’
Tara watched as Miss Kettering led Peter, shuffling alongside her in his yellow bunny slippers and pink winceyette pyjamas, upstairs to bed. This was too good to miss and Tara was following quickly behind when Peter's mobile jingled into life with one of those absurd ringtones.
Tara picked it up, a malicious smile spread across her face; she was going to enjoy this.
‘Peter? Oh no. He won’t be available tonight. Why? Because he is ready for bed, that’s why. Yes, that’s right, ready for bed, as in wearing his pyjamas and slippers.’
Tara resisted the temptation to describe the pyjamas Peter was wearing.
‘No you can’t speak to him. Actually it is his bedtime, I think he is in bed now. Of course he has a bedtime didn’t you know? Peter has to be in his jim-jams and tucked up in beddy-byes early or he gets terribly cranky. Yes I will tell him you called, bye.’
Tara shook with excitement. Jenny Phillips had sounded very puzzled by their conversation. Peter had fancied her for ages and had tried to worm his way into her affections by asking her to help study together.
Tara imagined it would be very amusing to listen to Peter’s explanation next time they met.
By the time Tara dashed upstairs, an amazing sight met her. Peter’s TV, DVD and Hi-fi had all been removed to the sanctuary of Miss Kettering’s room, meanwhile Miss Kettering had stripped his bed and was busy re-making it while Peter stood facing the bedroom wall with his hands on his head!



‘Tara, help me with this bedding will you? Your brother had a little tantrum so he has had a smacked botty again and is being punished in a suitably childish way.’
Together they made up Peter’s bed with pale pink, brushed cotton sheets, one bottom sheet and one top sheet. Tara was quite envious as she felt how soft and fluffy the pillowcases were as she slipped them onto the pillows.
‘Come along Mr Sleepyhead, into beddy-byes with you.’
Peter obediently climbed into bed, altogether a different boy from a few hours ago.
‘That’s right snuggle down.’ Peter’s head sank into the softness of the brushed cotton pillowcase. Miss Kettering placed four fleecy woollen blankets on top of the pink sheet and added an old fashioned heavy quilt. She tucked everything in tightly until she was satisfied Peter was securely bedfast before covering the whole ensemble with a gaily-patterned bedspread featuring various nursery rhyme characters.
‘Don’t you feel all cosy-wosy pet lamb,’ Miss Kettering said to Peter in her best baby talk voice. ‘You will be able to have a lovely long sleepy-byes now sweetheart and don’t worry if you wake up and feel frightened of the dark. Miss Kettering will be straight along to soothe her little boy with a cuddle and a hug thanks to this baby monitor I have set up. See? Just one little sound and I shall be in to see you. Of course if I find you out of beddy-byes without permission it will be smacked botty time again, do you understand?’
Peter managed a little nod of his head. Tara enjoyed herself by gently tucking the pink, brushed cotton sheet under his chin and giving his cheek a peck on the cheek. ‘Nighty-night little brother,’ she teased, ‘it’s seven’ clock now. You should have been fast asleep an hour ago, no wonder you are so cranky.’
She couldn’t resist one final remark. ‘Oh, by the way Jenny Phillips rang while you were being spanked; I told her you were being put to bed.’
Peter’s eyes opened wide with fright and his mouth struggled to find words of protest.
Miss Kettering fumbled in the pocket of her fluffy cardigan.
‘Miss Kettering has a little treat surprise for Peter,’ she said and popped a pink baby’s dummy into his surprised mouth as he was about to speak. Gently she lifted his head from the pillow and secured the dummy with a pink ribbon.
Miss Kettering ignored Peter’s muffled whimpers as she blotted out the daylight by closing the bedroom curtains.
‘Come along Tara, time you were in your pyjamas too.’
As the door closed, Peter blinked away tears and stared into the darkness.

Even if you're twenty one mummy can still have you in bed very early indeed if she has maintained your pyjama and early bedtime punishment

Mr Hardcastle Babied. Images by Dave Lomas

After Mrs Hardcastles encounter with Mrs Drummond and her baby husband Arthur outside Trendy House Boutique, she decided her own husband Reginald should be subject to a strict babying regime.

A play date was arranged and Reginald was wheeled in his new pushchair to spend an afternoon with Arthur. The boys had great fun splashing about in the pool with Mr Duck and playing on the swing.

Unfortunately there was soon tears and tantrums as Reginald was told it was time to say goodbye as it would shortly be time for him to be bathed and put into his pyjamas ready for his new baby bedtime.

"Oh dear is the new baby crying because he has to go home to beddy byes then?" Cooed Mrs Drummond as he was fastened into his pushchair for the journey home.

"Yes I'm afraid Reginald becomes quite upset when I put him in his new cot at
6 pm, in fact he sometimes need a smacked botty before bedtime, don't you mummy's sweetheart?" Reginald nodded tearfully, knowing he was not allowed to speak, "gwown up talk".

Meanwhile Arthur was being encouraged to, "wave bye-bye", by his wife as the pushchair and its incumbent was wheeled homewards clutching his dolly.

"Clever boy," she praised as she helped him out of the paddling pool. "Nana is going to babysit you this evening so mummy can go out with her friends, clap hands for Nana," she encouraged. Arthur complied and clapped his hands together enthusiastically but his heart sank, Nana was far too keen on bedtime spankings.

When Reginald and his mummy arrived home, she strip washed Reginald at the kitchen sink as his nappy was still dry and she asked him if he needed to go potty.

He shook his head fervently so she dressed him in his pyjamas ready for bed. Mummy had no sooner buttoned up his pyjama jacket and pinned his dummy to his pyjamas when he desperately began to clutch at the front of his nappy. Mummy lowered his pyjama bottoms to reveal the telltale yellow stain spreading across his nappy.

"No! You naughty baby, I just asked if you needed to go potty." Reginald could tell his wife was annoyed and looked shamefaced as his nappy began to sag.

"Well I am not going to change you yet, onto your naughty chair. You can just stand there looking ashamed of yourself until Susie and her mother arrive."

Reginald struggled to hold back the tears, Susie's mother Mrs Jackson used to be his secretary when he had a big boys job.

"Oh dear has baby wet his nappy then? Diddums was all ready for beddy-byes too in his lovely jimmy-jams."  Susie teased her mother's ex-boss mercilessly. "Isn't baby Reginald a Betsy-Wetsy babykins den?"

His wife was preparing clean nappies and plastic pants. "Come along then, let's get you changed and tucked into beddy-byes, Susie, perhaps you would like to change babykins?"

Susie eagerly positioned Mr Hardcastle onto his changing mat and removed his pyjama bottoms and soaking nappy before she wiped him dry.

"Plenty of cream on him please Susie, we don't want Mr Hardcastle to get nappy rash now do we?"

His wife and Mrs Jackson laughed as they sipped tea and watched young Susie talc Reginald before pinning him into two thick towelling nappies and enveloping them in a pair of teddy bear motif plastic panties. She  threaded his legs into his pyjama bottoms and stood him up.

"There, babykins is all changed and ready for night-night." His former secretary held out her arms and Reginald  tottered unsteadily toward her, his double nappying making him waddle infant like.

"Who's a clever boy then," she praised as he fell into her outstretched arms.

His wife stood up, "come along Reginald, wave night-night to the nice ladies."
She popped his dummy into his mouth and pushed his dolly under his arm. The dummy bobbed in and out as he nervously used it to soothe his anxiety.

Timidly he slowly raised his arm and weakly closed his fingers toward the palm of his hand in an infantile wave.

The three females roared with laughter at this pathetic, infantile pyjama and nappy clad male.

"Night-night Baby Reginald ,"chorused Susie and her mother, "night-night."

Mrs Hardcastle led her baby husband away and tucked him into his cot. She kissed his forehead before raising the cot rail.

"Straight to sleepy-byes sweetheart, it's ten past six, way past your bedtime."

The Winceyette Nightshirt: A story contributed by Les Lea

The Winceyette Nightshirt

I’m fourteen and have to go and stay at grandma’s house for a while. My parents are going through a tumultuous divorce and the constant shouting is having an effect on my nerves. My grades have deteriorated badly at school. I hardly sleep; continually worrying that the screaming might escalate into something much more violent. I lie in bed shaking and only drop off in a very fitful manner dreading the morning when I know it will start all over again.

This in turn has led to one or two night time accidents and I wake up to a wet bed, not really knowing when it could have happened as I’d hardly slept. The atmosphere in the house is terrible and I’m perpetually on guard not wishing anything I do adding to the general dysfunction of my family – so I hide my problem.

Grandma (from my mum’s side, my dad’s parents are both dead), thinks it disgraceful they should behave the way they are when I’m around and appearing ignorant their actions have on me. She berated both of them and insisted that they “…got their act together or separate and not involve their highly impressionable child (me) in their ‘theatrics’”.

As soon as school finished for the Spring Break she insisted that I get away from the relentless bickering and spend some time with her. Now I love grandma, but spending any time at all with an old lady isn’t my idea of fun but her argument is sound; I need to get away and she is offering a sanctuary that isn’t available from anyone else.

It was an hour and a half drive to Grandma’s house and they even argued over whose responsibility it was to take me there. Tempers were rising and I simply couldn’t take any more so, I quickly shoved a few clothes in a bag, emptied my piggy bank and took the four hour, three bus changes ride to arrive completely shattered. This was partly due to the fact she lived at the edge of a village in a rather sweet one-bedroom cottage but which is a mile or so walk from the bus stop. Of course I was expected but she also expected that someone would have brought me. She was furious, she also thinks I need protecting from strangers (not sure what she thinks will happen on a bus); she forgets that I’m fourteen and can look after myself. So, she was once again angry with my self-obsessed parents and called them to let them know her disapproval, and of course that I’d arrived safely.

I could hear her lay into my mother about how terrible it was to be subjected to hearing a constant stream of invective and anger even if it wasn’t directed at me. Grandma thought I was far too sensitive to have to put up with such antagonism but also listened to mum bleating on with ‘her side of the story’. Grandma’s final words were.

“…no thanks to you two self-absorbed, unthinking nincompoops.”

Yep, that’s what she called them down the phone, “nincompoops”. I was both shocked and amused that she should think in such a way about her daughter and son-in-law.

Once her duty to inform them was out of the way then all her energy turned to me and the huge cuddle that followed was very welcome. I didn’t expect it but I burst into tears, perhaps she was correct, I was too sensitive. Whether through relief or what I’m not sure, but granny’s sweetly perfumed embrace meant the world to me. I left a huge wet tear stain on her pale yellow woollen cardigan but she didn’t seem concerned, her only thoughts were that I was safe, away from all the aggravation and determined that I should have an untroubled stay.

In recognition of my visit she’d been baking and the homemade pies and tarts that appeared to cover every surface of the small but highly functional kitchen bode well. One thing for certain, I wasn’t going to starve whilst at granny’s house.

When I was younger I’d stayed with grandma quite a few times and I’d always shared her bed, which was OK but now I was more grown up I thought I’d be kipping on the couch. However, granny has a routine, and one she’s had as long as I can remember and that was - guests take a bath before bed.

It was only about 8 pm but I was well tuckered out and she noticed my eyes start to close. The meal she’d cooked, the lovely coal fire and the lack of any screaming certainly had me relaxing for the first time in many months. She smiled and suggested that, as she’d run a bath whilst I dozed, I should take full advantage of the bubbles she’d added. I loved the fact that granny, as old as she was, still wanted to take care of me, something both mum and dad had been neglecting for some time.

I went to the bathroom and stripped down piling my sweaty clothes on the dresser and slipped gingerly into the hot steamy suds. The smell of lavender filled the space and the bath itself was slippery from the amount of foam she’d added to the water, the entire effect was one of tranquil bliss so I closed my eyes and just soaked in its warm embrace.

I fell asleep, waking up to granny peering down at me and smiling.

“Gosh, you really did need to get away didn’t you?”

I smiled back my agreement.

“Well I think you’d better get out otherwise you’ll turn into a wrinkled prune.”

She held out a fluffy blue towel and encouraged me to get out of the bath.

“It’s fine gran, I can see to myself.”

I said nervous about being fourteen and being dried by my granny.

“I’m sure you can but…” and there was a twinkle in her eye, “why should you when I’m here to look after you.”

The towel did look very inviting and I nervously raised myself up but although the water had lost a great deal of its heat it was still very slippery and my grip on the side of the bath slipped as my feet slid along the bath floor and I made a huge splash that soaked granny.

I was embarrassed but she was laughing and although dripping herself, still held up the towel encouraging me to make more of an effort. My nervousness about the hairs that I’d developed quite recently left me; after all she wouldn’t be seeing anything she hadn’t seen before.  I was still a little ashamed at splashing her but thought I couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer.

As she encircled me in the towel it brought back happy memories of when, as a child, she’d do this to me after a bath and the thorough rubbing would be followed, if tradition was being upheld, by a nice mug of milky cocoa before bed. Once she was sure I was dry she led me to her bedroom and I noticed some items piled on top of the blankets. I still assumed that somehow, or somewhere, in that small house there would be another bed, or sofa, that I would be sleeping on but apparently I was wrong.

I looked, somewhat bewildered, at the stuff that granny had prepared. In my haste to get to her place I’d not packed any pyjamas and the few items I had in my backpack were just a couple of shirts, t-shirts and undies, I wasn’t well equipped at all.

“I’m sorry about this sweetheart,” Granny looked serious and apologetic, “but you mother mentioned you’ve been having night time accidents at home.”

This information came as a bit of a shock, I didn’t know that mum knew… she’d never said anything. However, coming home from school I suppose the fact that there was washing still in the machine and perhaps my room had a telltale odour, she’d managed to put the pieces together. Maybe she wasn’t as self-absorbed as I’d thought.

I was uncomfortable that granny now knew and also ashamed. I felt humiliated and tried to hide my suddenly tearful gaze.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, with what you’ve been through I can’t say I’m surprised.”

She put her arm around my shoulder and gave me a tender hug.

“However, we will be sharing a bed so I need to know that you are both comfortable and safe.”

I tried to be grown up and said that I’d brought a t-shirt and underwear for bed but she just gently shook her head.

“No.” She pointed to a bundle of items that were there ready for me.

Although I’d noticed them I hadn’t paid that much attention as to what exactly was in the pile but suddenly realised that the white cloth item on top was in fact a thick terry nappy.

“But granny, I’m too old for that…”

“Sweetheart, you’re never too old to take precautions.”

“But, but, er, I, er, mmm…”

My argument was slipping away as easily as the comforting towel she gently eased from my shoulders leaving me naked on the bed. She unfolded the huge terry square and refolded it into the shape of a nappy and slid it under my bare bottom. She sprinkled powder and reminded me that as a kid I used to enjoy that part the best. I was mesmerised with what was happening. I couldn’t lash out at granny but I certainly didn’t want to wear a nappy. However, I remembered that I had left my own bed at home in a soaked state so perhaps this thick protection might not be such a bad idea.

Anyhow, I just couldn’t see myself arguing with granny and by the time I’d got my thoughts in order I was powdered and pinned in and she was shuffling a large pair of white plastic pants up my legs. She patted them into place and I just knew I’d never get my boxers over them as I looked around for them and my t-shirt.

Granny was way ahead of me as she unfolded what looked like a pair of fleecy-style brown plaid pyjamas. She pulled what I thought was the top over my head and gently slid it down over my body. It kept going so she got me to stand up as it came down well below my knees.

“Granny, er, I can’t wear this, it’s, it’s, er…”

“Don’t be silly, it’s a nightshirt, a lovely Winceyette nightshirt.”

She smoothed it down and over my bulging nappy.

“This should keep you nice and snug while you’re here.”

She patted my padded bottom and suggested we go down stairs for cocoa.

I was reluctant to go anywhere, especially with the thickness surrounding my crotch but I figured that granny was probably wise enough to know when ‘protection’ was needed and it would certainly save me some embarrassment should I wet myself in the night, especially as we’d be sharing her bed.

I felt strange. In fact, the whole process had seemed totally, how can I put it, er, out of body? It felt like it was happening to somebody else, well, perhaps it was a younger version of me but it certainly wasn’t me now. However, the fabric did feel nice against my skin. The cotton was soft and yet felt unlike anything I’d ever worn before. If I was to compare it to anything I would say it had the texture and smoothness of a fluffy kitten. There was an immediate sense of comfort as I waddled down stairs and settled myself in front of the fire whilst granny went to the kitchen to get our hot drinks organised.

The cottage was detached, had a fairly large garden, which gran loved to potter around in, but was quite small; a kitchen and living room on the ground floor and a bedroom and bathroom upstairs. A few years ago she’d had a small conservatory built onto the back, which was fitted out with wicker furniture; the place really caught the sun when it shined. It was a lovely place to relax in summer.

Her living room was just as you’d expect for a country cottage; old but comfortable, well-stuffed chintzy style furniture, wooden dresser and display cabinets. There were photos of the family displayed around the room; me as a seven year-old, mum, dad and me when I was a baby and several shots of mum’s sister Jane and her family. Aunty Jane and Uncle Tom I think were happily married and, whereas I’m an only child, I have four cousins; Thomas is the eldest and the same age as me, Julie is twelve, Toby is eleven and they have a new baby, Benjamin. There were photographs of them all amongst the ones of us, as well as a lovely image of Grandpa when he was younger and in uniform. Three walls had flowery green and brown wallpaper and one wall was painted a dark brown but the overall effect was one of cosiness. The brown wall held a fabulous painting of a sunrise over the village that a local artist had done many years earlier. I loved the cottage; it was homely and always made me feel welcome.

The fire crackled in the grate and a small ancient TV sitting in the corner fit nicely with the surroundings but I wondered how gran could put up with such a small screen. When she returned bearing a couple of steaming mugs of cocoa and some biscuits I asked her, but she replied that she didn’t, as it hadn’t worked for over two years and not missed it one bit. I sipped my drink and felt the sweet taste and warming glow in my tummy filter throughout my entire body. I had a fleeting thought that this stay was going to be a long one if there was no TV but I had brought my IPad so it should be OK.


Granny was telling me all about the last visit from Aunty Jane’s family and that their eldest son Thomas had stayed with her when aunty was in hospital having little Benjamin. He also had a slight wetting problem and that’s how come she was prepared for my ‘needs’. She smiled as she said how quickly you can get things organised as a result of a wet bed. I swallowed hard hoping that my shame was not that obvious.

Again I was embarrassed that she’d brought the subject up but I understood she was just trying to let me know I wasn’t alone and that it wasn’t a huge problem so I shouldn’t worry. That was perhaps easier said than done. However, the cocoa was very soothing and sitting in front of her roaring fire, I soon forgot all my problems and dozed resting my head against grandma’s shoulder.

Time didn’t seem to matter as she guided me upstairs to her comfy bedroom and pulled back the covers for me to get in. The weight and bulkiness between my legs had given me a crinkly little gait but there was no doubt about it, the entire outfit left me feeling both comfortable and, strangely, loved.

The nightshirt hung on me with no bunching and the material next to my skin was soothing, just like my old teddy bear. I ran my hand over it all and for some reason it made me smile, it was if it was giving me back a pleasant memory. I wriggled contentedly and was asleep before granny came to bed.

I slept soundly throughout the night for the first time in many months.

I woke up and stretched and for a moment the unfamiliar surroundings left me confused. Thankfully, I recognised where I was and turned to see if granny was still sleeping. I’d dropped off before she came to bed and I slept so heavily I didn’t experience her near me at any time during the night. However, I could see the vacant dent and slightly askew sheet and blankets that proved where she’d been. I yawned and stretched further and could vaguely hear her down in the kitchen and if I wasn’t mistaken, she was cooking breakfast. The smell of frying bacon had wafted up the stairs and I was surprisingly hungry.

I pulled back the blankets and lifted my legs to get up when I saw that the nightshirt had bundled up past my hips and left my glossy protection on view. I’d forgotten all about that but now its presence was evident I suddenly realised that I was wet.

I was filled with panic as I brushed my hand over the sheets I’d only moments before been fast asleep on. Thank God they were dry. I examined the nightshirt and that was also dry so it was only the nappy that was wet – I was both thankful and appalled. How could I have wet in my granny’s bed and with her in it? I heard her coming up the stairs and quickly climbed back under the bedclothes hoping that I wouldn’t have to admit to anything but granny being granny, she gently set a cup of tea on the bedside table and assumed I was awake.

“Morning sweetheart, sleep well.”

“Mmmm,” I commented under a mock yawn.

“Well I’m making breakfast and it will be ready in about five minutes, meanwhile here’s a nice cuppa to rouse you…”

She then added off the cuff as if it was the most normal thing to say.

“… don’t worry about your wet nappy now; we can get you cleaned up after breakfast.”

She wasn’t asking, she was telling me as if she knew or at least expected it. My face went beet-red as I hid behind a quick slurp of tea.

“Would you like fried eggs or scrambled?” She said in the doorway as an afterthought.

“Erm, er, scrambled please.”

“OK sweetheart, don’t be too long I don’t want it to get cold.”

I was sitting up in bed, hugging my tea and thinking what a baby I was wetting myself for no reason. I couldn’t blame my parents arguing as I’d had the best night’s sleep for ages and yet here I was sitting in a soaked nappy.

After a few more sips I decided to get up. I pulled the ruffled up nightshirt back to where it
should be, covering my damp shame, and even more gingerly waddled down to the kitchen.

I arrived just as granny piled the eggs on the plate with several rashers of bacon, beans and mushrooms. I took my seat and was very aware of the squishiness in my nappy; thankfully there was only a slight crinkle to announce my arrival. For a woman her age granny was incredibly nimble and I could tell that not only had she made breakfast, I could hear the washing machine going, probably the second load as I could see through the window there were already some items hanging out on the line.

She asked if I had any plans for the day but in truth, I hadn’t thought about doing anything. I’d stayed in the village on many occasions so had seen all it had to offer. However, there were innumerable walks and pretty sites to visit if the weather stayed nice.

Once I’d finished breakfast granny suggested that I slip out of my damp nappy so she could get it washed and out on the line whilst the sun shone. So I toddled back upstairs to change. I wasn’t expecting her to follow me and became quite embarrassed that she planned to watch me strip but she actually had a confession.

“Sorry sweetheart but the stuff in your backpack was all creased and to be honest, smelled a bit funny so I’ve put all your things in the wash.

Everything should be dry by tonight and I can iron them and make you more presentable.

“What about the clothes I arrived in?”

She shrugged. “Sorry. They were pretty smelly after your long journey. They are all in a long wash at the moment.”

“Oh. I’m not sure what I can wear then. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Well, if you’re not going anywhere, you can just wear your nightshirt…”

She suddenly had a thought.

“Have a ‘pyjama day’ I think it’s called.”

“Well I suppose I’ll have to.”

I didn’t fancy wearing any of granny’s clothes. I laughed at the very idea, what was I thinking?

“But let’s get you out of that wet nappy first and into something a bit drier.”

For some reason I thought she must have kept some of my underwear back from the wash for just this occasion but once I was out of the plastic pants and soaked nappy nothing else was forthcoming. Well, I thought, I could just potter around in my nightshirt, although I have to say, the soft and fluffy material was constantly brushing against sensitive parts of my body sending ripples of pleasure to places I’d rather granny not know about.

She brought in some wet wipes and more powder and draped over her arm was another folded nappy.

“I think we need to clean you up first and I also insist that you wear something next to your… er…”

She was pointing at my groin.

“But granny,” I was already whining like a two year-old, “I can’t wear a nappy around the house.”

“Why not, there’s only the two of us here and I’m not keen on you wondering around not decent.”

I know I could have argued that it was her fault that I was in this position but I hadn’t been brought up to quarrel with the elderly and certainly not my grandmother. I think if I had, and it had got back to my parents that I was squabbling with her, then they may well have both got together to give me a sound spanking before they went back to their own quarrel. No I simply had to suck it up and do what she suggested.

I’m fourteen; the nappy-wearing came as a bit of a shock; the fact that she intended me to wear it about the house, as well as at night (when I could see her point), made me feel very uncomfortable. I know she was trying to make me feel loved and untroubled but the idea was nagging at me that this was a step too far. However, granny is such a human dynamo, that she simply set too and removed the saturated object, wiped and powdered my groin and fastened me in the dry one and slipped another pair of white rubber pants up my legs.

This time something happened.

The nightshirt never left my body during the entire operation. In fact, she’d just pushed it up over my belly and set to work whilst I still enjoyed the fleecy softness against my chest. It rubbed against my nipples and again I felt that shiver of ‘appreciation’ run through my body. Some of the fabric was tickling my neck and chin, which set me off giggling like a baby and I was surprised to feel an emotion I hadn’t felt for quite some time. Utter devotion. Granny certainly made me feel like I was the centre of her world and that everything she did, or was doing, was solely for my benefit… and it felt wonderful.

This strange piece of clothing was helping me appreciate so much more. Not only was it offering warmth and comfort but, together with the oddly reassuring nappy, I experienced an inner calm that spread around my body leaving each nerve ending with a special uplifting glow.

I stood up and granny kissed me and said that I should be OK for the rest of the day.

I was vibrating with pleasure as the nightshirt gently scuffed the back of my calves, tickling and caressing me at the same time; the nappy no longer making me worry but offered reassurance.  I’d never felt more at ease as I settled myself in the tiny conservatory to enjoy the morning sun and catch up with email on my IPad.

Oops, I’d forgotten that granny didn’t have Wi-Fi or broadband so, apart from listening to my music files, the odd game and catching up writing up some of my homework, the wonderful machine was useless. Thankfully, granny knew that the pub and the Tea Room in the village both had Wifi, so, I could catch up by treating myself to a cuppa at some point. However, that wasn’t going to be any time soon as I only had my nightshirt and I wasn’t about to parade around the village dressed like that. I was at a loss as to what I could do to occupy my fourteen year-old brain now the electronic part of my plan had collapsed. The TV was useless but granny spent most of the day with the radio on in the background and seemed more than happy with that as company. She’d already done all the baking so I couldn’t do anything like that. My clothes were gently wafting in the breeze but the sun was un-seasonally warm so perhaps I would just sun myself in the back garden.

Granny thought that was a great idea because she had to go off to an old folk’s home later as she was a visitor and didn’t want to let down those less able than herself. Typical of the woman, she was there to help others and I half-heartedly felt I should offer to join her. She thanked me for volunteering but thought it better if I stayed home and relaxed. She was of the opinion that I needed a calming influence and the old folk’s home, she said with a smile, was anything but that.

She laid a blanket out on the grass and told me to help myself to anything in the fridge or food in the pantry and that she’d only be gone for about three hours. I heard a horn blast and granny saying her lift had arrived, after she kissed the top of my head, she was out the door and on her way.

Even though it was relatively early, just after 10am, the sun was very warm and as I grabbed a book to read I spread myself out and tried to concentrate on one of the ‘Historical Romance’ novels gran liked so much. It didn’t keep my attention for long and I was getting pretty hot in my nightshirt. Hesitantly I slowly removed it, and giggled as the tickly material slipped over my skin. I was sitting on the blanket wearing just my protection and the bright white of my pants glared for a moment in the sun. I hazily thought that perhaps I’d get an all over tan before summer and that might be nice. I folded the nightshirt and placed it under my head and then spread myself luxuriantly in the sun enjoying its caressing rays.

I woke up to find granny quietly chatting with someone else seemingly also enjoying the early sun. Then I realised that it must be much later than I thought as she’d said she’d be away for around three hours. As I became a little more conscious I realised that she was talking with her neighbour Mrs Davies, they were sat at a small table sipping tea.

“Ahh, would you like a cool drink dear?” She asked noticing my eyes flickering against the sun.

“Mmmm, yes please granny…”

“Good afternoon.” Mrs Davies smiled and nodded in my direction.

“Oh, er, yes, good afternoon Mrs Davies, er, how are you?”

Her smile broadened even more before a wistful look came into her eyes.

“Well I wish I could lie out in the sun like you dear, but alas, those days have gone.”

“Me and you both.” Granny nodded sagely.

It was only then I become conscious of the fact that I was lying there dressed in so little.

Suddenly overcome with embarrassment I made to rise and get the drink myself but gran was already on her way to the kitchen. Laying there and looking at Mrs Davies I took in the fact that I’d slept for quite a number of hours wearing just my nappy. I was very warm and I was sweating heavily and the damn thing appeared to have soaked up every bit of perspiration. It took me until granny arrived back with my drink to realise that I had in fact wet myself again.

How the hell had that happened?

I wasn’t sure what to do by way of hiding myself but I suppose it was way too late for that as granny brought my drink.

“Here you are dear,” she handed the cooling glass to me, “but I don’t think you should lie around in such a wet nappy for too long, I don’t want you getting a rash.”

How on Earth did she know?

Mrs Davies took another sip of tea.

“My Sally was forever wetting her nappy,” she shrugged, “I don’t know what it is about young ‘uns but sometimes they seem to forget how to use the bathroom properly.”

“Yes I remember,” Granny was joining in, “Thomas was the same… kept forgetting to go potty”

I coughed, trying to hide my embarrassment and divert this course of conversation, so asked how long I’d been asleep.

“Well, it’s two thirty now, so…”

She left it for me to work it out.

Again I flushed red even though the sun had given me enough of a tan to hide my shame, but granny beckoned me to follow her into the house. First I went to check on my clothes hanging in the sun and they were almost dry but granny said she wanted to iron them all before I should wear them.

Again, I’m not going to argue with her so I just shrugged, grabbed my nightshirt and followed her inside. My shiny waddling bottom no doubt letting Mrs Davies know exactly how wet I was.

Mr Davies continued sipping her tea as granny and I disappeared back into the house.

“Sorry gran, I don’t know how it’s happened, I feel such an idiot.”

I was looking down at the bloated mass between my legs and thankful that the plastic pants had kept everything in place.

“Don’t worry dear, accidents happen and, after what you’ve had to contend with over the last few months, I’m not surprised.”

She was being very supportive.

“But why I should have piss… er, wet myself…” I was confused and embarrassed though it appeared not to be worrying gran.

“Look sweetheart, you’ve had plenty of things to worry about so now you are here…  all I can suggest is that you let them all go and let granny look after you.”

She looked both serious and understanding and I desperately wanted to forget about my home life.

She patted my shoulder sympathetically.

“Look let’s get you changed and, might I suggest, you need some after-sun, you’ve already got a bit of a tan.”

I was glowing so once I’d wriggled out of my plastic pants and dropped my nappy you could see a nice little tan line.

Within seconds granny had a soothing cream which, despite my mild protest, she was intent on spreading into me. I’d never felt as relaxed as granny’s fingers gently smeared the oily lotion into my shimmering skin. I closed my eyes and let my thoughts drift as her fingers soothed. Once she was satisfied that I wouldn’t burn or peel from my sunbathing, she slipped another nappy under me and pinned me in. She did it all so fast I didn’t realise or have time to object, besides, I was getting used to granny looking after me.

As she once again pulled the nightshirt over my head I felt the comforting soft, fleecy material tickle as it enveloped my newly tanned body. The thrill as it slipped across my skin was electric and welcoming; I never wanted this incredible sensation to stop. The fact that I was once again wearing a nappy under it made me walk slightly differently, but when we joined Mrs Davies back in the garden, any inhibitions I might have had had disappeared.

The warm afternoon with me floating around in my nappy and nightshirt made me think I was on a tropical island or maybe some hippy commune somewhere (I’d heard about them but never experienced either of these places). Whatever granny’s secret was, it was most definitely working because my cares had drifted away and I loved the easy attitude and lack of worry she had given me.

Mrs Davies asked me about school and friends, ambitions and general topics, never once delving into family matters, well not my family anyway. We all sat chatting for some time and I was amazed at how often the conversation crept round to wet nappies and the problems both these adults had with getting their children and grand-children toilet-trained. Thankfully, such talk no longer embarrassed me and I zoned out for most of it although I did realise, or at least thought I realised, they were saying what they did to make me feel better about my little ‘accident’. It was strange, the way they talked it was as if they almost expected kids to have accidents and it was all normal and taken in their stride.

Once Mrs Davies had gone back to her own place granny started on our evening meal, which included one of her fabulous meat and potato pies with thick gravy, a personal favourite. She knew of my liking for anything pastry based so there was a fruit pie and custard to finish, I was in seventh heaven. No doubt when I eventually did return home I’d weigh a good number of pounds more… and I wasn’t bothered, granny just kept the fantastic meals coming.

That night after my bath granny once again had a nappy ready for me to sleep in. I could hardly object seeing as how I’d wet myself both night and day but I hoped this would be the last time. She’d ironed all my clothes and they were waiting on the dresser all neatly folded and ready for the morning when I had plans to go down to the Tea Rooms and use their WiFi.

This time she unfurled a plain red winceyette nightshirt over my head, which if it was possible felt even more wonderful. There was just something about the way the fibres tickled and caressed my skin that gave it an unbelievable quality, one that made me immediately at peace with the world.

I felt quite floppy, whether it was the hot bubble bath or the nightshirt or a combination of both I’m not sure but I felt like a little kid again. I was giddy and childish and if granny had blown on my tummy I’m sure I would have been giggling like a toddler, and yet it didn’t feel disconcerting.

When we returned to the living room I was in two minds whether to listen to my IPad with my headphones but decided that would be incredibly rude.

Granny turned on the radio and it played some really old songs from her era, which at first I didn’t like but gradually they grew on me. At one point there was one I actually remember from when I was quite small myself. It was a kiddie sing-a-long type of tune and before I knew it, both granny and I were singing along like we were competing at a karaoke competition… or more likely a baby’s birthday party.

That night granny and I both retired together. She smelled wonderful and it didn’t take long after a kiss on the cheek I fell into a wonderful deep sleep.

I woke up and once again granny had disappeared and there was a cuppa on the bedside table. I could see it was steaming so had only recently been placed there. Granny was no doubt busying herself with whatever it was she found to do, whilst I just sat up in bed and enjoyed my morning brew. It took a couple of minutes to realise I’d wet myself and I sighed in frustration hoping against hope that this wasn’t going to be a regular occurrence. I toddled to the bathroom took off my nightshirt and slid the offending soaked items to the floor. Grabbing a flannel I cleaned myself up and, like granny had done before, slicked on some lotion before completing the operation with a sprinkling of talc.

I returned to the bedroom and of course all my clothes lay on the dresser all washed and neatly ironed. This is the type of service mum hadn’t provided for quite some time and I was grateful that granny had gone to so much trouble, even my underwear had been pressed. I quickly got dressed and wandered down to the kitchen.

I sat down and for some reason it was very noticeable that I didn’t have the padding that I’d become used to. My underwear seemed very sparse and unsubstantial and I wriggled trying to get comfortable but the chair felt very hard under my bum.

Over cereal gran asked me if I had any plans as I appeared dressed for a trip out.

“I thought I’d wander down to the Tea Room and catch up on my emails and stuff.”

“That sounds like a plan dear.” She encouraged, “But don’t forget you’ll have to buy something whilst you are there, I don’t think they’ll let you use their facilities for nothing. Do you need any money?”

Once again gran was all concern and helpfulness and I suddenly felt guilty about leaving her alone, which was silly because she was one of the most independent women I’d ever met.

“It’s the Carter’s who own it, Deidre and Malcolm, if you need anything tell them I’m your grandmother and I’ll…”

“It’s OK granny, I’m sure I can manage… anything.”

I smiled although I noticed a strange note of irritation creeping into my voice.

“I’m fourteen for goodness sake; I can manage to buy a cup of tea… I don’t need mollycoddling.” The thought ran through my head.

“Er, I’m sure I can cope… thanks granny. I have my own money so should be OK.”

“OK sweetheart.”

Whether she’d detected my testiness I wasn’t sure as she just carried on with the washing up. However, I was shocked as to why I’d suddenly become irritable with the very person who was doing all she could to free me from my worries.

Guiltily I asked if there was anything I could do to help before I set off and she requested I peg out the washing, whilst she cleaned upstairs. It was the very least I could do so emptied the machine into a basket and sauntered out into the fresh morning air. Actually, it was already quite warm with a very gentle breeze, a perfect day for drying.

I hadn’t given it much thought but as I pegged each item out I realised that they were mostly my terry nappies, they looked huge hanging in the sunshine. My plastic pants were there, my brown nightshirt, a couple of towels and tea towels, a yellow sheet and that was about it. I stood back and looked along the line and watched as the breeze slowly flapped my nappies. For some reason I began to feel a bit ashamed. Not about having worn them but at not wearing them now. My thin underwear beneath my jeans failing to offer the fullness and protection my nappies had.

What a strange thought to have suddenly come into my head. I shivered in confusion and wondered why I should even think such a thing. I shook my head in disbelief but thought it best to start on my way to the Tea Room; after all it was over a mile to walk.

It didn’t seem as far as when I’d arrived in the village but there again I hadn’t travelled for over four hours or been incredibly tired. As I strode along the country road I passed several gardens and everyone seemed to think it was a wonderful day to hang out their washing. In almost every garden there were several billowing terry squares and colourful plastic pants fluttering in the breeze.  I wondered if the village had suddenly increased its population by an explosion in the birth rate. However, it seemed only a few minutes before I was ensconced at a table in the Tea Room with my IPad open and a fizzy can of Coke at my side.

Time just shot by as I replied to my emails, downloaded some more music and caught up on a couple of my favourite TV programmes. During that time I’d also downed a couple of fruit juices and a pot of tea complete with a piece of fudge cake. Yum.

It appeared that Deidre Carter knew who I was, well at least that I was staying at my grans house, as she asked me to take a message back. She was very friendly and chatty (the place wasn’t that busy) but again I found myself getting irritated that I wasn’t being left alone. However, she didn’t charge me for the use of her Wi-Fi and I even got that first Coke for free so I couldn’t complain.

With all that liquid inside me it would have been sensible to go to the toilet there but seeing the time, I’d spent almost five hours engrossed with my gadget, I guiltily wanted to get back as soon as possible. Deidre gave me an envelope to give to gran and, smiling sweetly said the strangest thing.

“Nice seeing you again, I remember you as a baby… happy days… it’s good to have you back.”

As I left the shop I wondered when we’d met but couldn’t recollect having ever seen her before.

Alas, as I walked back along the road my bladder was pleading with me for release and I knew I’d not make it all the way without an accident.

I saw some trees down a slight embankment and thought they would shield me from the road while I did what I had to do. Unfortunately, as I stepped onto the grassy verge, I wasn’t really looking where I was going and my foot got caught up in a low lying bramble. I stumbled over that and found myself careering down the slope.

My newly washed jumper was suddenly covered in soil and grass stains as I plummeted the short distance to the bottom, ripping my jeans in the process. However, that wasn’t the end of it as a small, muddy brook pooled there and I slid head first right into it. As I lay semi-stunned my bladder gave way soaking myself. The warm pee was quickly doused by the cold muddy water seeping into everything. Even my IPad was awash in the canvas satchel I carried it in. I was angry but had no one to blame but my own stupidity. I only hoped my gadget wasn’t damaged.
 
I sat in the murky brook trying to turn it on but it was useless. The mucky water had not only killed my IPad but soaked my clean jeans, splattered my t-shirt and jumper and I could only guess at the soiled state of my underwear.

As I trudged the half mile or so back to granny’s place I was furious with the world and all my worries and anger at my parents returned with a vengeance and, inexplicably, I began to cry in exasperation.

“Oh dear, what’s happened?”

Granny greeted me at the door as I stumbled in covered head to toe in muck and filth.

“I fell in the brook.”

I was a mess and through my tears the words came out as a pathetic childish whine rather than the voice of a fourteen year-old.

“Oh my poor darling,” she was so sympathetic, “let’s get you changed and into something cleaner and drier.”

I pulled the sodden and filthy envelope from my pocket.

“Sorry gran, Mrs Carter asked me to give you this but, er, it might be illegible .”

“Not to worry dear, it’s probably just a special order for some pastries… I make them for the Tea Rooms. Mrs Davies makes the cakes - we both have our secret recipes that are in demand. It’s quite a little industry.”  She beamed.

I think it was yet another demonstration of how self-sufficient granny was and not in any way some sad old lady shuffling around in her final days.

She helped me out of all my clothes in the kitchen and left them by the washing machine; it seemed that the job of doing my washing was going to be a never ending process. She wrapped a towel around and led me up to the bathroom and, because she didn’t have a shower, again filled the bath.

The confident, if agitated young person who’d walked into the village had returned nothing more than a mucky little tyke who couldn’t keep himself clean.

As the hot water flowed I stood worrying about this peculiar anger that had, thankfully, only fitfully suddenly come over me after I’d been so happy and relaxed. Now I was standing naked and wrapped in a towel I felt more like a stupid kid than my real age. My body shook like I was a naughty child who was about to be punished and I sensed my bottom lip quiver as if I was about to burst into tears.

However, once gran had checked it wasn’t too hot I slipped under the warm water and let myself soak. This time there were no suds but granny cheekily grabbed something off the shelf and dropped it in next to me, it was a plastic yellow duck.

“Have fun while I sort out your clothes.”

My initial thought was ‘how childish’ but soon I was pushing it around making quacking noises completely absorbed in my own little world.

The clear water began to get slightly discoloured as the mud was washed away but not before I noticed a slightly pale yellow stream of pee get caught up in the bath’s undercurrent and slowly dissipate. It took a few seconds to realise it was me who was responsible because I’d had no forecast it was about to happen. However, the duck was providing enough entertainment so I didn’t let the shame distract me from my watery fun.

#

Granny came back and, after shampooing the dirt out of my hair, dried me with a huge fluffy towel.  I was led back into the bedroom where another pile of clothes lay waiting.

“I’m sure you don’t want to sweetheart but…”

She pointed to the nappy already arranged for my bottom.

“I think it will be safer in the long run dear.”

She must have noticed that I’d peed my pants on the way home and was taking further precautions. Perhaps she somehow knew I’d peed in the bath.

I couldn’t blame her; she quite rightly didn’t want some pee-happy person ruining her nice furniture.

Bizarrely, I wasn’t as bothered about it as much as I thought I should be. In fact, as she oiled, powdered and pinned me into its terry thickness, that feeling of annoyance I’d had brooding all day completely disappeared.

She fished a new pair of thick pink plastic pants from under the pile and wriggled them up my legs and into place. They were such a colourful contrast to the white ones she’d previously had me wearing something clicked and I had a smile on my face - I didn’t know why.

Granny smoothed them over my nappy; the subtle rustle announcing I was now well protected, which made her beam with satisfaction.

“Well sweetheart, these are definitely the right pants for you.”

She stroked the front and back arranging for the white terry pillow between my legs to be completely encased by the thick bright slippery cover.

I looked down at the glowing shiny bulk and wriggled with pleasure, even though I’d never worn pink before, it did look nice. As granny patted my well cushioned bottom I produced carefree murmurs of childish delight, which were echoed by her.

Finishing off she pulled a fleecy pink nightshirt over my head that had blue cartoon rabbits gambolling all over it. I was giggling with glee as the material delighted different parts of my skin.

It was incredibly childish but the soft cotton fabric once again enveloped my body making me instantly feel as if I was being nuzzled by a hundred fluffy bunnies; their warm silken coats producing an exquisite, feel-good sensation.

No matter how infantile it may have appeared, I never wanted to leave this garment’s furry embrace.

“Oh sweetheart,” granny was smiling, “you look so… so… so cute.”

I didn’t care. Dressed in my nappy, the new, sturdier plastic pants and the wonderfully infantile nightshirt I was no longer worried about anything.

Granny was snuggling with me on the bed and saying I was her sweet little baby who looked very sleepy and perhaps should take a nap.

I did feel tired but didn’t want to sleep it was still too sunshiny outside. However, as granny soothed me by stroking my hair and patting my well-padded bottom I slowly felt my body drifting into peaceful slumber.

When my eyes fluttered shut I could hear granny whispering to herself.

“There, there little darling, time to let go and enjoy a life with no worries.”

She continued to stroke my hair as I slipped further and further into a calming bliss.

“I think we’ve found the right nightshirt to suit your sweet, sensitive temperament - tomorrow, we’ll find you some new playmates.”

An intense tingling glow radiated around my body. I yawned and stretched and surprisingly gurgled as the warm sensation settled in my reassuring nappy.

As granny pulled the blankets over me the emotion of complete contentment engulfed my mind.

“Night-night sweetheart… granny will take good care of her sweet little baby.”


“Wake up sweetheart, time to get up; we’ve got a full day ahead.”

Granny was gently stirring me from such a deep, deep sleep.

Drowsily I twisted and stretched, I was so comfortable I didn’t really want to move.

Eventually my eyes began to focus and I could see granny beaming down at me.

“Well,” she said as her fingers traced the outline of one of the characters on my nightshirt, her smile broadened, “I know another sweet little bunny that needed their sleep.”

A yawn escaped as if in agreement.

Slowly she drew back the covers and I lay there slightly disorientated because I couldn’t work out what time it was. I mean, I’d fallen asleep in the afternoon and it didn’t feel that much later but, well, the light in the room made it, ermmm…

Seeing my confusion granny jumped in with an explanation.

“Sweetheart, you’ve slept right through. It's morning now and breakfast is ready when you are.”

She drew back the curtains and let in more of the fresh morning light. I could see the cloudless blue sky outside with the obvious promise of another fine day.

How on earth had I slept for so long? I must have needed it but hadn’t felt particularly tired when…

I began to wonder if in fact I had been very tired and just hadn’t realised. Perhaps it was the long walk into the village? Maybe, everything from my home life was just catching up with me? Sleep was coming particularly easy after all those months of my parent’s constant bickering, when even dozing for a short time had been a problem.

There was little doubt that since I’d been at granny’s I’d felt incredibly stress-free. Even the silly, though incredibly comforting, nightshirt had added to the cosy feeling and helped keep me calm. I may be fourteen but thoroughly loved my new nightwear.

At home, my jammies hadn’t meant a great deal, I wore them if I remembered but often just slept in my underwear but now. Well. It was like cuddling up to your favourite teddy bear, all warm and fuzzy and something you could totally rely on… except, more so.

I ran my hand down over the nightshirt. I’d forgotten just how juvenile it was but it didn’t matter, the pinkness and blue rabbits made me smile. Kiddie style or not, it all seemed very appropriate for such a splendid morning - lively and adorable. And, that’s how granny made me feel anyway.

As the material slipped under my fingers once again I got the delightful sensation I was actually stroking a little rabbit, but, stranger still, that petted little bunny was me. The soft fleecy coat, the warm glow, the totally tranquil feeling… it was all so wonderful.

I remembered, even as I’d slept, stroking myself and squirming in pleasure, despite my bulky protection, nothing stopped that marvellous thrill coursing through my body. I even recalled waking slightly to feel a warm flush in my nappy but again it felt pleasurable so fell back to sleep knowing I need not worry.

As I’d slept and drifted on a cloud of utter contentment I experienced another hand slowly rubbing the fabric, which now I assume must have been gran though at the time it was all just a disjointed dream.

“There, there Sweet-pea… you just relax, sleep… just take it easy,” said a voice so soothing, so encouraging.

Now, as I thought about it, what were just phrases in my head before, was definitely granny, probably coming to bed and wishing me a goodnight.  The gentle caress, the reassuring hug, the soft kiss and the tender arm that encircled my waist left me with a feeling of total love.

Typical granny.

All these thoughts and nocturnal memories flooded my mind as granny cheerfully helped me up from the bed.

Once standing I became aware of the heavily soaked nappy clinging between my legs. I’m sure if it hadn’t been for the particularly thick and tight pink plastic pants it would have slid down my thighs landing in a sodden pile at my feet.

However, gran said that we’d sort it all out after breakfast so I cautiously (and squishily) made my way to the kitchen wondering just how much pee a nappy could actually hold… it felt like several gallons.

The thing was, fourteen or not, I now totally accepted that I had to wear a nappy. It didn’t feel babyish, it didn’t feel odd, it simply felt like that’s the way it should be. Filling the thing, either day or night, was not a problem, granny seemed to expect it. What should perhaps have filled me with horror, a soaked and drooping nappy, was normal and I was encouraged to give it no thought at all.

Granny’s total and unconditional love meant that any problem I had was no problem at all to her. In fact, she’d gone out of her way to make me feel like I did when I first used to come and visit her as a toddler. There was nothing too much trouble for her little ‘Sweet-pea’ and I appreciated that she’d gone to so much trouble to remind me of the fantastic times we had together before my parents had become emotionally high-maintenance.

Breakfast was my favourite sugary cereal and a glass of milk, both of which I downed very quickly. I hadn’t realised just how hungry I was and a second bowl, followed by a large glass of apple juice, went down with equal speed.

As I sat eating and drinking my protection oozed a bit between my legs and it wasn’t very nice. I was glad that the plastic pants gran put me in the day before were sturdy enough to prevent leaks so at least I wasn’t dripping all over the cottage.

I’d noticed my ‘accidents’ were getting a little worse because each morning I’d woken up very damp, the day before I’d peed my pants and I’d even had a surreptitious dribble in the bath. Yep I was definitely ‘tinkling’ (a granny term from when I was tot) more.

As a consequence, granny had been correct in making me wear some protection because my bladder seemed to have a mind of its own and I had to admit I felt safer when I did. I’m not sure if it was security, defence or just plain preference but I liked the bolstering quality of them now and more than happy to enjoy the security it offered.

However, there was certainly something special about being back with granny. It was like stepping back in time. I suppose wearing a nappy was all part of the reinforcement of when things were good and, in her own sweet way, she was reminding me of those happier, more sentimental times.

Granny saw me wriggling in my chair and humming to myself.  At first I wasn’t aware I was but, although the fullness and dampness of it wasn’t necessarily pleasing, my wriggling wasn’t because of irritation but somehow it amused me. There was an unmistakable rustling from the plastic and a sort of ‘squish’ from the saturated cloth. As I ate I was unintentionally entertaining myself through the little noises my protection was creating.

“I think I’d better get my favourite bunny out of its wet nappy before there’s a chance of any rash, we wouldn’t want that now would we?

I giggled but shook my head like a well-behaved toddler as she guided me back upstairs to change.

Standing in the bathroom she pulled the night shirt over my head, the soft winceyette sending a delicious tingle all over my body.

The plastic pants were tight and, as she eased them down, I could see the imprint of the elastic waistband and leg cuffs leaving a red mark. No wonder they didn’t leak. Then the sodden disposable slipped effortlessly to the floor where granny had me step out of it and into the bath. She ran the warm water and then instead of having a bath, I stood whilst she soaped and sponged me down like you would a toddler.

Once all that was done she led me back into the bedroom where a large disposable and enormous thick shiny blue rubber pants were waiting. I wasn’t expecting to be put back into protection, it was morning after all, but I didn’t feel able (or want) to complain. It felt like granny knew best so it was best to go along with her judgement. In fact, I really liked the way gran was looking after me and it all just seemed effortless and practical.

She always takes pride in smearing in the preventative nappy rash cream, making sure that any vulnerable area is well coated. She has fun sprinkling on the baby powder (I’m giggling more and more each time she does this) and fixing my disposable (with an extra layer of padding) correctly, which means I’m always grateful for her attention to detail.

Pulling up the rubber pants I could feel there was a bit more ‘body’ to them than the plastic ones I’d been wearing. They were denser, shinier and looked fairly impenetrable in comparison but I guess she’d looked at the nappy I’d just taken off, realised how saturated it was so decided I needed more help than usual. She appeared happy with the result, whilst I chuckled (I don’t know why but I’d been in that joyously juvenile frame of mind since I got up) as she checked and smoothed everything down, looking at the final glossy effect with a nod of approval.

Another nightshirt was pulled over my head. The cotton was as soft as the previous one except the material was blue with little brown squirrels running all over it. It made no difference, as soon as it engulfed me and tickled the back of my legs I felt so happy and cosy I thought I’d never want to take it off again, which was a strange thing to enter my head.  However, many similar thoughts and questions had done exactly the same but had disappeared with the ease with which they arrived.

Uncontrollable chuckles just erupted as I stood waiting for whatever was to happen next. The nightshirt had an effect I couldn’t explain except I absolutely loved wearing it. It tickled, it comforted, it was so unlike anything else I’d ever worn. Granny was all reassuring smiles and I felt happy that she was happy.

I was dressed for night but the day had only just started.

“We’re going to a party... a pyjama party.”

Granny announced when she saw me examining the baby pattern on my daytime clothing.

“Oh.”

Was about all I could muster at that point though in truth, once her announcement had sunk in, I was suddenly quite thrilled by the idea of a party.

Indeed, had I been a little kid I might have found myself jumping up and down with excitement.

Unintentionally, I was actually jumping up and down.

The clothing now made perfect sense and the ultra-thick protection hardly registered because of the anticipation of going to such an event. Any reluctance that I may have had regarding what I was wearing and being seen by others had completely disappeared.

Granny noticed by immature enthusiasm.

“From now on sweetheart, it’s going to be fun, fun, fun.”

She stroked my hair, smoothed down the nightshirt, which sent even more ripples of pleasure through my body and ended up patting my padded bottom.

“Well sweetie, I think you’re just about ready so… shall we go?”

She slipped a huge colourful bag over her shoulder and headed for the door.

There was no doubt about it, I was beaming from ear to ear at the prospect of the party and straining like a puppy on a lead desperate to be let off. Unfortunately, that excitement, together with the milk and apple juice from breakfast had an effect and I found myself, quite uncontrollably, filling my pristine and lovingly applied nappy.

However, I just wanted to get off and join the festivities as soon as possible so I didn’t say anything to granny, hoping that she couldn’t tell. The warmth spread around my groin and bottom… I smiled what I hoped was an eager smile to hide my guilt.

Granny didn’t tell me whose party it was she just held out her hand, which I took with barely a second thought, and we toddled down the back lanes to our destination.

For the briefest of seconds I had a touch of Déjà vu. I’d walked down this lane, holding granny’s hand before, which over the years was not an impossible thing to happen except, I was dressed exactly the same but still only a toddler. It was weird but the ‘vision’ soon passed and everything felt right again.

Thankfully granny doesn’t walk too fast so the journey wasn’t an awkward waddle trying to keep up with a soaked and bloated nappy between my legs. The blue rubber pants were very tight so kept everything quite well contained but there was a feeling in that particular area that I might be pretty well waterlogged. Then I remembered granny had fitted a thick soaker pad so that was probably what was giving me that ‘bloated’ feeling under my nightshirt. As I shuffled along holding her hand I was smiling to myself for a couple of reasons. One was that I was off to a party; the other was that again she’d known I’d need extra protection and that’s just what she’d given me.

Granny was very special indeed.

For a second time I noticed that nearly every back garden we passed the washing hanging out was very similar; nappies, colourful plastic pants, lovely designed nightshirts and various towels. It seemed that granny wasn’t the only one who needed to keep up with a messy kid.

No sooner had I noted this phenomenon than I disregarded it as anything in particular because I could hear the noise of a party in the distance. Needless to say my waddle sped up a bit and I was almost dragging gran along behind me. However, she kept a grip on my hand so I couldn’t just rush off by myself.

Eventually we arrived at a building that looked like it was once a small village school. In fact it did have Thurswell Green Infants carved into the stone above the door but there was a newer painted sign that announced Thurswell Green Crèche. This colourful banner had happy cartoon children and baby animals all over it so I suppose it now doubled for a slightly different need in the village. Granny guided me through the doors, by-passing a couple of bright little empty classrooms and out into the back.

This was a surprise.

The large enclosed area must have once been the playground and sports-field for the school and it was still being used in a similar manner. There must have been about thirty or forty children charging about, playing on various swings and slides. Toys were everywhere; there were a couple of shallow little plastic paddling pools with boats and other objects floating about. Trampolines, a cardboard fort, huge building blocks and a host of other colourful items were peppered around the place.

My eyes lit up when I saw the large bouncy castle, which was proving very popular. It was one of those things that I’d always loved to play on but, being, er, erm…  I forget now, but too old for simply jumping up and down on some inflated piece of plastic.

What I noticed most was that the children were all ages, from toddlers to teens. In fact, there were definitely other boys and girls who were older than me all running about, screaming and laughing but the one thing we all had in common was - our nightshirts.

This was a very specific pyjama party.

A few toddlers were running about wearing just their nappies, whilst others like me wore their brightly coloured nightshirts. As people bounced or ran around, their nightshirts flapped in the warm morning air revealing a host of different coloured protection. Some were plain white, some didn’t wear plastic pants and others had bright and shiny pants keeping everything in. What I noticed, but it didn’t really click as anything strange, was that all the kids of every age were wearing nappies.

So, this was gran’s idea of a pyjama party… GREAT… I couldn’t wait to join in.

She let go of my hand, patted my padded bum and told me to go and enjoy myself. I didn’t need telling twice and immediately made my way to the bouncy castle. There was a short line of kids waiting and an even longer line of shoes; trainers, sandals and flip-flops belonging to the people already bouncing up and down. I looked around at the swarm of youthful exuberance and hardly anyone was wearing anything on their feet. It must be that once you’d taken them off, the grassy surface proved more enjoyable. I quickly slipped off my trainers and put them into the line with the others and I had to agree, the grass felt really fantastic tickling between my toes.

Suddenly I experienced someone slap my arm.

“Tag… you’re it”

I spun around to see the smiling face of a boy, a little bit younger than me, running away but looking over his shoulder, I suppose to make sure I was going to join in. I did. I set off after him and before long I was playing amongst a group of other kids. It was fantastic, all ages played with each other and no one was left out. As new people arrived they were just as quickly absorbed into the noisy multitude and having a brilliant time.

It appeared that a large proportion of the village youngsters, and quite possibly any that were visiting like me in the school break, were here. It was a very communal activity, which seemed incredibly well supported.

Around the edges of the playing field were gazebos and awnings offering shade and sitting chatting in those were where the adults kept themselves. Mostly the noisy kids were left to their own devices but occasionally individuals were called over to have their nappies checked. If the grown up thought they were too wet or messy, they were changed right there and then on the spot before being fitted into a fresh one and sent back out to play.

It was the same from the youngest to the oldest and no one thought it odd, mostly those being changed just wanted to get back with their friends to continue whatever it was they were doing. The noise and the screaming, the laughter and childish excitement about being with such a big group of like-minded juveniles was just so infectious. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed myself so much or played so many different and silly games.

Granny called me over because I’d been running around for about an hour, lifted up my Winceyette nightshirt and slipped her hand down the front of my tight reflective blue pants.

“OK baby, let’s get you changed… you’ve been like this since we left home and I don’t like you in this state for too long.”

I shrugged, so she had known but let it pass because of my excitement… I loved granny.

As I looked around I could see that most of the shaded areas had loungers, deck-chairs and spread out covers and most had huge holdalls somewhere nearby. Parents, aunties, uncles and grandparents or whoever was caring for the various children had come well prepared to make sure their little ones were going to be well looked after.

It never occurred to me to be shy or anxious about granny changing me in public. Indeed, only ten feet away a boy, who was probably a couple of years older than me was nonchalantly being changed and next to him was a little girl, possibly his sister, who was also being slid into a pair of nursery print vinyl pants. As soon as both of them were done they kissed their parents and charged off to join their group of friends.

As granny was fastening my shiny blue rubber pants back into place, her neighbour, Mrs Davies came over holding the hand of a little boy. He was wearing what appeared to be a very wet disposable but still had a huge smile on his face.

“Peter here has just been for a swim in one of the paddling pools,”

She half laughed and shrugged at the same time.

“He didn’t realise that his nappy would soak up all the water.” She laughed again. “What does he look like?”

With that he was plonked down beside me whilst being relieved of his flooded and drooping appendage.

“Hewow”

He smiled across at me as Mrs Davies got to work cleaning him up and powdering his hairless little body. She introduced him as her grandson.

“Hi” I half smiled and nodded back

“Will you pway wiv me?”

His big blue eyes were both smiling and searching hopefully.

Granny gave me a nod and a smile that I took as “That would be a nice thing to do”. Not that I wouldn’t have anyway but… well… I’d do anything to please her.

“Mmm, er, sure…”

“All done.”

Granny patted my padding then pulled the nightshirt back down to my knees.

There was something I’d noticed since the first time granny had put me back into a nappy – the padding around my bum and the thickness between my legs made me feel, er, different… no special, er, no that’s not it either. Gave me a feeling of total well being, as if, being wrapped in such soft, thick material was sending messages to my brain declaring all was wonderful and I had absolutely nothing to worry about. Granny also gave me that feeling, as did the nightshirts, there was something unusual going on but it was something I embraced.

“This one will be a minute or two yet.”

Mrs Davies said as she pretended to search for something under her grandson.

His face was engulfed in a broad grin and his little giggle, as she tickled his sides and slightly tubby tummy, was quite contagious. I found myself laughing along with him for no other reason than it was fun to do. Both granny and Mrs D were also smiling as their two charges rolled around hardly able to contain their mirth. We both wriggled on the blanket in our fresh clean nappies chuckling our heads off.

So as to protect young Peter should he want to go back in the paddling pool, Mrs Davies fed a pair of tight see-thru plastic pants up his legs.  His blue cartoon printed disposable was clearly squashed by the glossy material giving the effect he was somehow trapped in glass. He squirmed, beaming his childish but quite captivating smile as they were snapped into place. Once granny had made sure I was looking my best, we set off together to find something exciting to do. He slipped his hand into mine and we made our way to the makeshift cardboard fort.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d played with someone his age but I, and a couple of others, were soon involved in a fantastic game of aliens and dinosaurs. I was no stand-offish teen but an energy fuelled toddler and it appeared I wasn’t the only one. Before long we had about ten people join us making monster noises and alien sounds. I’m not sure there were any rules as such but that didn’t stop us charging around having a brilliant time.

There simply was no age barriers.

The nightshirts never seemed to hinder our play although sometimes, the colossal size of the protection underneath made running at speed very difficult. Some kids would fall over and expose just how loaded their nappies were or reveal some unexpectedly silky, shimmering covers. Some boys had equally colourful or frilly vinyl pants like the girls but no one commented. In fact, I don’t remember seeing any tears or nastiness amongst any of the children. We were all getting along wonderfully because it didn’t matter, everyone was equal and what you wore wasn’t down to you, it was the decision of the grown up supervising.

There were many styles of vinyl pants that I thought looked fantastic and mine, on more than one occasion, had little hands pawing at the very smooth glossy surface. Judging by the noisy mayhem going on around us no one seemed in the least bit inhibited by what they had to wear.

After a further couple of hours the kids started congregating at the canopied areas for some lunch. Once again, everything seemed to be well organised as the huge bags were delved into and a copious amount of food and drink produced. All the kids huddled in close to their parents, or whoever had brought them, and settled down in the shade of the very hot sun, to feast.

Granny of course had brought some of her fabulous pies and I shared them with Peter and Mrs Davies. A couple of other grown-ups I didn’t know but whose kids, Ray-Ray and Bonnie, I’d been playing with also came over and shared granny’s and Mrs D’s fabulous baking.

“Do you remember Mr and Mrs Wilkinson?” Granny asked me.

I felt a bit guilty because obviously granny thought we’d met before but I couldn’t recall when it could have been.

“Sorry but…” I shook my head slightly.

“Well don’t worry about that.” Mr Wilkinson said smiling before shaking my hand. “You seem to have made great friends with our nephew and niece.”

“Yes, we’ve had a great time…”

I started to say but the food was being spread out so the adult conversation centred on that.

“Thank you for inviting us to join you all.”

It was Mrs Wilkinson’s turn to talk.

“It really is a splendid day and…” she said looking at the fine spread granny and Mrs D had set out, “you two really have the gift for baking… this all looks simply scrumptious.”

Ray-Ray was wearing a nightshirt like mine except with a different colour combination, whilst the young girl Bonnie just crawled around in her rather bulky nappy. Again it all seemed so normal and our blanket was a wonderful place on which to spread out. As he sprawled, stretched and yawned Ray-Ray’s jammies rode up and I could see the neatly pinned terry nappy he wore under an opaque pair of plastic pants. For some reason, as I bit into a fantastic piece of pie, I began to think whether I preferred fabric or disposables and was quite captivated by the choice made for him.

However, as we all enjoyed what was on offer, Mrs Wilkinson produced a couple of drinks for the kids. To my surprise at least, both Ray-Ray and Bonnie, who weren’t toddlers, drank their milk from baby’s bottles. Even Peter, who was the youngest of our little group, drank from a sippy cup and I wondered if granny had brought one for me. She hadn’t, I drank my chocolate milk from a refreshingly cold carton which was delicious. But I was thirsty and begged for a second, which of course granny let me have with a warning to take it easy seeing as I’d wolfed down the last so quickly. Despite my best intentions and with not a little embarrassment, I still somehow managed to get a large proportion of the cool brown milky substance down the front of my nightshirt.

“It’s a baby’s bottle for you in future.”

Granny said half seriously as she looked around at the others who were slurping and nursing without making a mess.

She pulled the stained nightshirt over my head and again I giggled as the tickly fabric sent ripples of pleasure around my body.

“I’ll let you rest now and I’ll sort out something else for you later.”

Lunch certainly wasn’t as noisy as it had been earlier and, as meals and drinks were finished, things got quieter and quieter until the entire assembly had drifted off as they would at nap time in kindergarten.

All around were snoozing and worn out youngsters snuggling up to their loved ones. All the adults seemed grateful for this lull in proceedings and appeared to join them in this calm interval. On our blanket granny, Mrs D and the two other adults were sitting in deckchairs, whilst we kids huddled close together on the warm fleecy blanket. Without my nightshirt I was just wearing my shiny blue protection. As sleep was about to engulf me I felt Peter snuggle up closer and wrap his arm around my slippery protection. I heard him sigh softly as he drifted off, slip his thumb between his lips and, with the weather being so pleasantly warm; it wasn’t long before I joined him.

I woke up to see Peter facing me and sucking on a dummy that had replaced his thumb whilst he still snoozed contentedly. Mrs Wilkinson was in the final act of changing Ray-Ray by pulling up his plastic pants and Mr Wilkinson was patting down his niece’s new pink plastic pants over her large nappy. I could see both fabric nappies held in place by two huge pins with pink safety covers. At the same moment I noticed this I also became aware that I’d wet myself. The chocolate milk had gone right through me and I’d filled my nappy. Granny was just about to see to my needs.

Some of the other children were already up and about, charging around like before and bouncing up and down on the inflatable castle. I heard my name called and being waved at so, as granny slipped off my rubber pants, I shouted back that I’d be with them shortly. She peeled away my soaked nappy and set about with a host of wet wipes to clean me up.

Ray-Ray and Bonnie had already run off to join their friends and Peter was still sleeping innocently on the blanket. Mrs D checked his padded bottom and grimaced, apparently her angelic little grandson had done more than wet himself. She shrugged, delved into her bag and retrieved another, much larger disposable and some extra padding. She let him doze as she pulled down his plastic pants and released his messy blue disposable.  Granny had just about finished cleaning me up and was rustling a pair of see-thru plastic pants up my legs, they looked similar to the ones Peter was wearing and I assumed meant that any ‘accidents’ could be immediately identified.

“There.” She announce proudly. “My little sweetie is all spick and span.”

She kissed the top of my head and patted my thickly padded bottom and sent me on my way so I didn’t have to be a witness to the mess Peter had made. I was thankful.

The rest of the afternoon continued much the same as the morning and even running around in the hot sun didn’t seem to inhibit anyone’s spirits. We all seemed to have a terrific time though by around four-thirty we were all pretty well tuckered out.

Slowly the fun died down.

Eventually granny folded up the blanket and packed her bag and called for me as it was home time. I had one last bounce before I regained my trainers and waddled over to her. Peter and Mrs D had already gone; the Wilkinson’s had gone a lot earlier so although I didn’t want the games to end, I knew the party was ending. Someone else was packing up all the chairs and awnings so all we had to do was to say our farewells to those still left.

Granny held out her hand and once again I was more than happy to hold it as we toddled home, I even offered to carry her shoulder bag, which she seemed most grateful for. We chatted about the day, about the new friends I’d made and how fantastic I thought the idea of the pyjama party was. I told her I was surprised to see most teens, in fact all the kids, dressed in nightshirts like mine and asked why this was.

“Oh sweetie, we’ve been wearing nightshirts for many years, there’s a clever lady who makes them specifically for us here in the village.

“But why nightshirts and not, er, you know, normal pyjamas?”

“Well sweetheart, it’s down to access.”

I looked at her a little confused.

“It’s so much easier to change our sweet babies if they wear something that is easily accessible… and over the years we’ve found these nightshirts, which everyone seems to adore, the best system.”

“Oh.”

The fact that an entire village of youngsters was wearing protection didn’t register as anything unusual.  I accepted granny’s reasoning without question. I supposed, if I had to wear a nappy there was no reason why others didn’t feel the need as well and, as I’d found out, I was glad of them now.

None of the kids charging around at the party had questioned why they were wearing what they were and nor had I. I hadn’t assumed anything it just wasn’t something I thought needed an answer.

It was what it was and we all seemed happy enough with what that was.

We arrived home and the first thing granny did was check if I was damp or not. I was, very.

“OK sweetie let’s get your clammy nappy off and you in the bath for a nice long soak.”

I smiled and run up the stairs to strip off whilst gran filled the bath with one of her famous lavender bubble bombs. I’d never experienced these before I visited her home but I actually loved the smell, the way it made the water not only bubbly but also feel all silky and nice. My skin felt like I’d been well and truly pampered and sleek with a thin layer of exotic oils.

As granny suggested I take my time I did just that and took full advantage of a lingering soak. I skipped the need to play with the little yellow duck but kept happily submerging myself below the tide of suds. I’d surface with foam piled on my head and looking in the mirror kept rearranging it to make beards, moustaches and the like. In contrast, the hairs ‘down below’ I’d developed and which had caused some unease when I’d bathed on that first night were no longer a problem as they’d simply disappeared. Eventually granny came in like she had on that very first day and spread a towel inviting me to get out and dried. Where once there had been awkwardness and embarrassment about being naked in her presence, now I just climbed out and let her encircle me in the soft folds of her love.

As she rubbed me dry and whispered sweet words of love and encouragement in my ear, the feeling of being fourteen all but disappeared and it was wonderful returning to a part of my childhood where I was so valued, didn’t have to worry and my life was taken care of. Indeed, age seemed to have very little meaning because I’d been happily playing with kids of all ages and none of us cared. I suppose because we were all dressed roughly the same helped but it was just nice not having to worry what others might think or say. It just hadn’t mattered.

It was still only about six o’clock, there was still plenty of the day left but granny had already spread out my nightwear. It wasn’t all that different from what I’d been wearing all day so she just guided me over to the pile of stuff I was so getting used to and lay out. She took her time with the lotion, checking to make sure I hadn’t got any more of my body sunburnt before liberally smoothing it over my entire body.  She had me roll over onto my tummy and took an equal amount of time making sure my back, neck and legs were all sufficiently coated. She even rubbed some into my bottom that had me giggling like a two year-old. Once that was done came the cloud of baby powder that she freely sprinkled everywhere, which set us both howling like hyenas.

A well stuffed fabric nappy was then tightly fastened in place, which reminded me of Ray-Ray’s and once again I couldn’t believe how granny knew so easily what I wanted. The pins were exactly the same and she smiled knowingly as I wriggled in total contentment when she finally slipped a new pair of thick white nursery print vinyl pants up my legs. I was both surprised and elated at this little extra because for some reason it had been another thing I’d desired from the moment I’d first laid eyes on them at the party.

Granny was brilliant. She knew everything and made me feel like the luckiest person in the world to have her in my life. She finally eased a new white nightshirt over my head. If possible (and it was), the fabric was even softer and wrapped me in a fleecy hug I found overwhelming. The white fabric had the opening lines from nursery rhymes with cartoon representations of the subject and I found myself singing or saying them out loud to my audience of one.

The shirt was a lot shorter than normal and only came down to just over my hips, which meant that my matching protection was obviously on show. At first I wasn’t too sure, I thought it looked very babyish but granny was full of praise, saying how nice and special it looked and that she’d had it made specifically for me. She hugged and rocked me in her arms and I could do nothing but respond with equal enthusiasm. Granny was the best, and, as the overpowering sensation of the new ultra-soft material caressed the upper part of my body, I could feel the nappy and pants embrace the lower in the same way.

It must have been because I’d had such a hectic day but suddenly I felt quite tired. I’d yawned and granny had asked if I was hungry or thirsty. I wasn’t starving because we’d been snacking all day but I wanted a drink and, ever attentive gran, put me to bed, pulled up the covers and then said she’d go and get me something whilst I rested.

The thing about granny’s bed is that it was incredibly comfortable. Once you sink into its soft mattress and slide under the sheets and blankets, it’s like you’re in your own personal cocoon. It may still have been early but I wallowed in the soft comforting bedding and the wonderful overwhelming welcome.

When gran returned I was almost asleep but she came and lay by my side and propped my head in her lap. I was only half aware that something was being pressed to my lips but that was enough for me to get the taste of warm strawberry milk. With no other thought than I wanted to drink I opened my mouth and a rubber nipple slipped in and before I really knew much about it, I was sucking and enjoying the fruity warm flavour and thoroughly enjoying the sweet experience.

All the time I suckled gran was hugging and humming the nursery rhymes that I’d been singing earlier. I reached under the covers and my hand gently slid across the bulging plastic pants, which also sent ripples of pleasure throughout my body. So that shudder of pleasure, together with the tasty treat I was slurping on, seemed to empty the bottle quickly. Once I’d finished I felt her kiss the top of my head and call me her ‘sweet little baby’ before I snuggled down deeper and drifted off.


The rest of my break at granny’s followed a similar pattern; either other kids came over to our house or I visited them at theirs and we played enthusiastically without a care in the world. Even though my outfit was now more baby-like, and my protection was always on show, it didn’t matter we all happily played together.

I vaguely remember waking up from a naptime and hearing Mr and Mrs Wilkinson talking to granny.

“… I know it's more work but I do enjoy seeing them like this.”

Obviously I hadn’t caught the beginning of the conversation.

Ray-Ray and Bonnie were lying next to me on the blanket, both with dummies in their mouths and snoozing heavily. I had an empty baby’s bottle next to me but the teat was still resting between my lips.

“It’s a shame they have to go back to normal when it's school time… they are far more trouble then.”

There was a murmur of agreement between the adults.

“This village is fantastic, everything about it is designed to encourage kids to be kids and enjoy life as a kid.”

It was Mr Wilkinson talking.

“No responsibilities, no worries… no growing up… even if it’s all just for a short while.”

“Better than never,” Mrs Wilkinson paused and then added, “and we get to have our babies back... even if they eventually forget.”

Then I heard granny’s voice.

“I worry that my silly daughter and her equally silly husband will still be arguing instead of sorting out their problems.”

Her voice went softer.

“I hate to think of my poor little sweet-pea having to put up with all that anxiety. Sometimes I wish I could just keep…”

There was a slight pause as Bonnie woke up and looked at her aunt.

“Auntie, I’m wet.”

“I know precious,” she replied. “We’ll get you all cleaned up when Ray-Ray wakes.”

Bonnie leant over to her brother and cheekily pulled the big blue dummy from his mouth. A string of drool accompanied it but it also woke him up.

One morning I woke up and granny suggested I have a bath, which of course I happily agreed to. This time there was no bubbles or fancy bath salts and the towel was draped over the peg on the bathroom door so I even had to dry myself. I ventured back into the bedroom and although granny wasn’t there my clothes were laid out on the bed ready for use. This time it was different.

Gone was my nappy and nightshirt and in their place were my other clothes; my jeans, jumper and underwear.

Granny called up the stairs.

“Hurry up sweetie, your mother will be picking you up in a short while and I don’t want to send you off without any breakfast.”

I’d forgotten that I’d have to return to school after my two week break and I really didn’t want to. My time with granny and the rest of the people in the village had been the best time of my life. I slipped into my underwear and it just didn’t seem right, I was missing that bulk but, as I was going home I suppose I couldn’t wear a nappy for that.

I sat at the kitchen table dressed pretty much as I’d arrived two weeks earlier. I slowly ate the bacon and eggs granny had cooked and her cheerful chat tried to keep my disappointment at bay. I didn’t want to leave but a new school term called and I couldn’t get out of it. I asked granny if it would be OK to come and visit her again during my next break, she said she’d like that a lot.

I gratefully sighed and smiled back at her - she was and is totally amazing.

There was a knock on the door and mum came in. She kissed gran and then kissed and smiled at seeing me again.

“I’ve, er, we’ve missed having you around.” She ruffled my hair in a loving manner.

As I finished my breakfast granny and mum went into the conservatory to chat privately.

I don't know what was discussed but both mum and granny were smiling when they returned.

“OK sweetheart, we need to get an early start we have some shopping for new school clothes and I thought I’d treat you to a spot of lunch at the mall. Would you like that?”

I nodded semi-enthusiastically. I was going to miss granny but already I was forgetting why.

At the door I kissed granny goodbye and thanked her for having me.

“Anytime sweet-pea… there’s always a place for you here… whenever you need it.”

I slung my backpack onto the back seat of the car and climbed in beside mum in the front.

As we drove away a pang of… something… I wasn’t sure what rippled through my body.

When passed the sign that said WELCOME TO THURSWELL GREEN – children please drive carefully another shiver made me go quite rigid.

“Are you OK sweetheart?” Mum sounded concerned.

“Mmmm, yes, er, I think so… just sad to be leaving… “

Mum smiled and I was left wondering why exactly it was that I felt so depressed about leaving.

“Well, what have you been up to over the past fortnight?” Mum enquired.

“Oh, nothing much. Oh I did fall in the brook,” I smiled at the memory but then remembered something else. “Unfortunately it destroyed my Ipad.”

“Well that would explain why we hardly heard anything from you.”

I wasn’t sure if mum was thankful I’d not kept in touch or relieved but either way she made my day by saying that since we were going to be at the mall, perhaps we should get a new one. This booked me up no end and I was really pleased.

“Wow, thanks mum. I promise I’ll keep it safe.”

She laughed

“What else have you been up to?”

“Oh nothing much.”

I really couldn’t remember much at all.

“Well as long as you got on well with granny.”

“Do you know she doesn’t have a TV… and… get this… doesn’t even miss it.”

Mum laughed in mock horror.

“So what on earth did you do to pass the time?”

"Oh this and that, the weather was nice so I could get out and….”

I trailed off. I couldn’t remember much about anything I’d done.