Still Wearing Terries, Hmm

I would like to point out this isn't my own work, that accolade goes to the gentleman who posted below :-)

Gently waking, I opened my eyes to see aunty Rosies’ face beaming down at me with a look of utter adoration. Snuggled deep in my blankets, I gazed up at the centre of my universe and smiled back. As I stood up in my cot aunty Rosie looked at me for a full minute. Slightly small for my ten years, my bottom bulged out. My legs were slightly parted by the familiar bulk of my wet towelling nappy, my clear plastic pants showed above the waistband of my snug pyjama trousers and a faint, not unpleasant smell of urine mingled with my warm, sleepy smell. Lowering the side of the cot, my aunt gathered me safely up into her arms. One hand around my back, the other underneath my bottom pressing the wet nappy into me, she carried me across the room and into her big warm bed. Freeing a breast from her nightgown she pulled me in to her sweetly scented bosom and guided my mouth to her nipple. As she patted my well padded bottom and held me close, I started to gently suck. My full bladder, stimulated by standing up in the cot, started emptying involuntarily. Fortunately auntie had plenty of experience with little boys and the nappies she pinned me into every night were thick and absorbent, able to handle several wettings.

Feeling the flow of urine into the nappy under her hand, aunty Rosie put a finger down the front of my pyjama trousers and plastic pants. With a gentle smile that belied the formality of the nappy check she murmered “what a wet little boy”. After ten years, the ritual was just that – she knew what to expect and I don’t remember ever waking up dry.

Perhaps I’d better explain. I had come into aunty Rosies life as a new born. She adored babies and had worked for many years in childcare centres and nurseries, whilst longing for a child of her own. Coming from a staunch feminist family, she had no real interest in men, and after many years of failed IVF treatment she had started to become resigned to not having a child of her own. The death however of her mother had resulted in a significant legacy for her and her sister Anne, sufficient for them both to give up work. At this point the question of a child arose again. Anne therefore agreed to undergo IVF herself, in order to maintain the family name and help her adored younger sister. Although naturally wishing for a girl, my arrival was a supremely high point of both their lives, and after being handed over to aunty Rosie as the main caregiver, Anne agreed to live with us and become part of the family. Using a small part of their legacy the sisters bought a large, comfortable house in the country. Engaging a housekeeper, Margaret, they settled back into a life of quiet simplicity and domestic bliss.

After yearning for so long for a child, now my aunty had me she wasn’t going to let me just grow up and flee the nest, and without making a conscious decision simply delayed the whole process of my development in order to maintain my dependence for as long as possible. The rich experience of breastfeeding – the intimacy, the stimulation, and the reliance on her I continued to show filled her with maternal feelings so she just continued to breast feed at night and in the morning. Similarly my nappied state. She was in no rush to potty train me. I was physically slow to develop anyway, and even now had frequent accidents in the daytime and wet my bed every night, so there just didn’t seem to be any point in putting me into pants, causing stress to everyone involved. Along with aunty Rosie there was Anne and Margaret, so there were always plenty of hands to change me, bath me, wash nappies and dry them. I was therefore kept in nappies, almost exclusively terry nappies apart from occassional outings in disposables or training pants where discreetness was an issue. At home I usually wandered about just in a nappy and plastic pants, and was changed on the floor or upstairs in my aunties room on the changing table. Similarly my sleeping in a cot was not a deliberate act. My aunty just decided that until I was dry at night there was no point in getting me a full size bed – the plastic covered cot matress did a far better job of protection that any plastic sheet over a normal mattress. Again, my sleeping in nappies in a cot at ten years old simply reinforced to my aunt that I was still a baby, not yet ready for any sort of responsibility.

I blinked back to alertness as Margaret came into our bedroom carrying a heaped breakfast tray. In her early fifties, she was more a part of the family than any sort of servant, although she took responsibility for running the house and home tutoring me. With a daughter of her own now living overseas, she had plenty of experience of childcare, and she almost looked upon Rosie and Anne as her own daughters, and me as her grandson. She sat on the edge of the bed now as aunty Rosie had her breakfast, both helping to feed me whilst at the same time discussing the plans for the day. Once finished Margaret took the tray whilst Rosie lifted me out of bed and carried me through to the bathroom. Standing me up in front of her she took off my pyjama top and pulled down my pyjama bottoms and I stepped out of them, facing her in just a sagging, saturated nappy and clear plastic pants with a blue nappy pin on each side. Deftly unpinning the nappy she allowed the whole soggy mass to fall to the floor with a loud plop. Picking the bundle up, she popped it into a nappy bucket and then sat me on the toilet. As she ran the bath, I sat on the toilet and and my body made rude noises as I emptied my bowels. Although I had little control over my bladder – by concentrating hard I could stop myself from wetting for a few seconds when my bladder was full - I was fairly reliable when it came to solid motions. I did have the odd smelly accident, mostly dealt with by Margaret, but generally a mornng bowel motion ensured that my nappies, whilst wet, stayed clean.

After washing me all over with a flannel, interspersed with kisses and caresses, aunty Rosie carefully dried me and carried me over to the changing table in the bedroom. Lying on my back, naked, I gazed up at her as she went about her business. Taking a clean terry towelling nappy from a pile at the bottom of the changing table, she carefully folded it into a kite shape. She then grasped my ankles and lifted my legs up while sliding the nappy under my bottom. Reaching between my legs, she pulled the thick material up and pulled over one of the sides. As she held the material together, she expertly undid a nappy pin with the other hand and snugly pinned the front and side of the nappy together. Repeating the process on the other side, she then reached into a draw on the side of the changing table and bought out a pair of white pull on plastic pants. Shaking them out, she pulled them up my legs and over my bottom, carefully tucking the nappy in around the waistband and legs of the plastic pants to ensure no material showed through. A white t shirt, socks, and dungarees completed my dressing and with a gentle pat on my bottom I was sent off to play for a while.

Today being a weekend day, there was no schooling so we were going to spend the day with her friend Gwen and her foster daughter Lorna. They lived next door to us, and since Lorna was my age my aunt and Gwen had hit it off immediately we had moved into our house. Lorna had been abandoned in Pakistan as a toddler. Gwen, working over there as a nurse, had adopted her and brought her back. Lorna and I grew up together and shared many memories. Some of the shared memories were reflected by my current nappied state. Lorna had also been slow to train, perhaps due to her abandonment as a child. She hadn’t mastered daytime control until she was six so it wasn’t that long ago we were changed together. Even after that she sometimes messed her pants. Night time control for Lorna didn’t come easily either – she still wet at night for many years, and whenever we had sleepovers either aunty Rosie or Gwen would put us both in our nappies at night time together. Sometimes, if we went on holiday, we would even sleep in the same bed, both safely encased in our babyish nappies and plastic pants. Lorna was starting to have some dry nights now though so Gwen had been letting her put on her own pull ups at night, and lately she had even been keeping those dry. As I still needed my babyish nappies both day and night, and still slept in a cot, I was becoming very much the baby in the relationship.

Now, when I was changed in front of her, she would often help, passing a nappy to my aunty, or picking out a pair of plastic pants for aunty to put on me. Inevitably she would try and find the most babyish ones she could. They tended to be larger and baggier (I had larger ones for my thicker night time nappies) even if I was having my nappy changed in the daytime. Gwen had also passed on some of Lornas night time attire to my aunty Rosie, so pink plastic pants, and even ones with ruffles had appeared on my changing table. Normally my aunty wouldn’t put these on me, but when Lorna handed them to her with a mischevious smile, she would often smile back and I would find myself walking round not only with a large, padded bottom, but a pink frilly one to boot.

When we arrived at their front door, Gwen opened the door with a big smile. Although I waddled slightly, my daytime nappies weren’t as thick as my night time ones, and the dungarees were loose enough to partially disguise my nappied state. What gave me away however to anyone standing close to me was the swishing sound my plastic pants made as I walked, and particularly if I sat down. Picking me up, Gwen patted my bottom and, as the tell tale rustling of my plastic pants gave me away, she smiled the smile of an experienced mother. As Lorna arrived I slid down from Gwen and went to meet her. I was hoping she wouldn’t notice my nappies as I had started to feel a little self conscious around her now that she had outgrown even her night time pull ups. She said nothing to me though, and I hoped that she thought that perhaps I too was done with nappies, and that any rustling sound was at worst caused by a pair of training pants. Alas, my relief was short lived. My aunt was sitting on the couch talking to Gwen, when she looked over at me. Noticing something, she called me over. Standing me in front of her, she undid the shoulder straps of my dungarees and pulled them down to my ankles. I was revealed to all in the room (especially Lorna) in my puffy plastic pants and an obviously very wet nappy. In fact it was this very wetness that had attracted my aunts attention. A I played with Lorna, I wet myself once or twice and two tell tale marks appeared through my dungarees where the leg bands of my plastic pants had let a little of the moisture through. Noticing this, my aunt had realised that her baby needed changing.

She carried on chatting to Gwen as she pulled my plastic pants down to my knees. Gwen similarly was unconcerned at the sight of a ten year old in front of her having his nappy changed. Lorna however had a slightly smug smile on her face as she came over to watch the whole proceedings. Unpinning the nappy, my aunty pulled it from between my legs and placed it into a waterproof compartment in my nappy changing bag that Lorna had helpfully passed up when requested. Pulling out a clean nappy, aunty Rosie basically folded it in half (a slightly different nappy fold for daytime use) and laid it on her lap. Reaching out, she turned me around and sat me on the nappy. Pulling up each side and pinning them in turn, she then stood me up and pulled up my plastic pants, again tucking the nappy in carefully to ensure that all the nappy was safely inside the plastic pants. As my dungarees were wet, she pulled them off my ankles, and with a quick swat of my now dry bottom, I was allowed to toddle off with Lorna. All disguise gone, I spent the rest of the day in front of Lorna - a pretty girl my age wearing a short dress and panties – waddling around in a terry nappy held in place with two pins, puffy white plastic pants and a t shirt. I needed changing twice more that day. Aunty Rosie changed me one time, lying me down on a changing mat in front of her and Gwen and Lorna. The second time Gwen changed me – “for old times sake” she said with a fond glance at Lorna.

A day out with Lorna

Oh boy, a trip out with Lorna and her mum Gwen. I loved going out with them – there were always treats, and if I stayed the night, which I normally did, we would all sit up late in Gwens big bed watching films on her big screen TV, eating snacks and giggling. In some ways, although I was usually kept in nappies and plastic pants and slept in Lornas old cot I felt more grown up when I stayed there.

On this particular day I had come round to Lornas straight after breakfast. Later on Gwen was going to take both of us with her into town while she did some shopping. Although my auntie Rosie had put a clean nappy on me after breakfast, I had managed to wet so much that by mid morning the seat of the dungarees I was wearing had become saturated. Gwen pulled these off me along with my nappies and plastic pants and sat me on Lornas old potty in nothing but a t-shirt while she put my dungarees out to dry. Lorna went off to fetch a pair of her old training pants. After the statutory ten minutes on the potty with no results Lorna had put the training pants on me and we carried on playing. Just before lunch though, engrossed in our game, I looked down between my legs to see a puddle appearing and soaking into the carpet. I started to cry softly, both from the mess I was making at my best friends house, and my feelings of babyishness at wetting myself in front of a girl my own age. Gwen as usual though was quite unconcerned. “You can’t help it dear, I thought you may be ready for big boy pants but you obviously aren’t yet”. Leaving Lorna to dry the carpet as best as she could, Gwen took me by the hand upstairs to the bathroom. I stood there as she pulled off my soaked training pants and washed me with a warm flannel. She stood there for a moment looking at me, then opened a cupboard and took out a large towelling nappy. “I think this may be better for you” she said as she laid it on the floor and quickly folded it into a triangle. Again taking my hand she helped me to lie down in the middle of the nappy, and pinned it at the front with a large pink nappy pin. The nappy wasn’t quite as soft as the ones I wore at home, and had several dark stains on it. Evidently Lorna had put her nappies through a hard life when she wore them. From the same cupboard Gwen then pulled out a pair of plastic pants. I had seen her put Lorna in these ones at night in the past. They were quite large, plain white with a slight yellow discolouration around the front – the result of many years of Lornas wetting, but as we weren’t ready to go out yet, Gwen didn’t seem to mind how unsightly they were. “It’s about performance, not looks” she quipped. Not being in any position to argue, given my recent lack of control, I meekly raised my legs when Gwen told me to, enabling her to slide the plastic pants up and over my nappy. “There”, she said brightly, “that’s more sensible isn’t it. Besides you look much cuter like that than with those nasty thin training pants”.

I toddled downstairs holding her hand and we all sat down together for lunch. My nappy felt funny – it had more bulk at the front than usual, the result of Gwen folding my nappy into a triangle rather than the usual kite shape, and the plastic pants were big and baggy. Gwen and Rosie had had a long discussion one time while I was being changed on the merits of a kite fold as against a triangle fold for nappies. Both agreed that a triangle shape was better for babies however Gwen said that she sometime used the kite fold on Lorna as she got bigger, while auntie Rosie was adamant that the kite shape, with a pin at each side, was more secure for active boys in the daytime, especially older ones. Old habits must have died hard with Gwen though, for the unusual thickness in front of my legs attested to the triangle fold she had used on my nappy.

After lunch Gwen said to me “as we’re going out, I think you’ll be better off staying in nappies”. She asked Lorna to fetch a clean nappy so I could be changed and lay me down in front of her. Kneeling down she pulled off my T shirt and plastic pants, unfastened the pin at the front of the nappy and gently slid the mass of wet material away from my bottom. Gwen started to fold the clean nappy into a triangle, then giggled. “Silly me” she said, “an active little boy like you will hardly be able to walk in this” and she changed the fold to a kite fold. Grabbing another pin, she secured the nappy on either side, then looked at me and pulled a face. “Now what”, she said, “you can’t go out wearing wet dungarees. Lorna, fetch some of your old clothes for Davey to wear”. “But auntie Gwen” I said, “I’m not a girl”. Gwen smiled down at me as I lay in front of her dressed only in a fluffy white nappy pinned at each side with a pink nappy pin. “Don’t worry dear, nobody will know and besides, you’ll look much nicer in some of Lornas clothes than those horrible old dungarees.” Lorna came back carrying some items of clothing. First were the plastic pants. As they were pulled up my legs I looked at them. Clearly for a girl, they were lined inside with plastic, whilst on the outside they were far more fancy than the ones I was used to. They were covered in soft pink cotton, and along the bottom were several rows of ruffles. They fit snugly over my padded bottom and the elasticated legs gripped me tightly around the thighs. Next a short matching dress was pulled over my head. I looked at the mother and daughter with a confused look on my face. “Oh Lorna” gushed Gwen, “doesn’t he look adorable”. I saw my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Small for my age, I stood there looking for all the world like a little girl. My dress wasn’t even long enough to cover my well padded bottom - covered with frills it was clearly showing under my dress and it was obvious that I was wearing a large cloth nappy underneath. Although my hair was fairly short, I could easily pass for a 4 year old tomboy. Slightly old to still be in nappies, but otherwise looking cute in a pink dress with matching rumba pants. Being led around the shopping mall by Gwen and Lorna people would naturally assume I was the younger daughter – perhaps a bit slow to potty train but otherwise nothing out of the ordinary. A pair of sandals completed my outfit and then Lorna and I were strapped into the back seat of Gwen’s car and we headed off to the shopping mall.

Dutifully I held Gwens hand as we entered. Although slightly self-conscious of my nappies, I soon realised that most people didn’t really notice anything too out of the ordinary. After some grocery shopping, we went into a childrens clothing shop. For Lorna, it was a chance to look at some summer dresses. For Gwen, it was a chance to gaze nostalgically at baby and toddler wear. “If only you were my little boy” she whispered, looking at romper suits with poppers down the front, and posters of mothers breast feeding their babies. She stopped at the nappy section. “Since you aren’t ready to get out of nappies yet, perhaps we should buy some things to help keep your little bottom dry”. Although I had no problems with Gwen and Lorna knowing my real identity, I was a bit nervous of what she would tell the sales assistant. I couldn’t stop her though as she called one over. Fairly young, in her late teens, the sales assistant had a kind face and a brisk, efficient manner. I breathed a sigh of relief as Gen started. “My little girl is a late trainer. I need some more plastic pants for her, but have you got any that are a little less plain. Just because she isn’t ready for big girl pants doesn’t mean that she can’t look smart”. The sales assistant looked down at my padded bottom and smiled. She must have guessed I was older than I seemed, as she said “Well, normally at her age we’d just be selling things for night time use and mothers don’t worry too much about looks, but in fact we do have some cute little pants that she would look adorable in.” From the adjacent shelf she selected a couple of packages. Opening the first she pulled out a large pair of plastic pants. A light yellow, they were decorated with pictures of teddy bears and rattles. Shaking them out, she held them in front of me at my waist. She looked at Gwen, who smiled and nodded enthusiastically. “Are you sure they are her size?” The sales assistant looked at the label at the back “for 4 to 8 year olds” she said. “Is that about right?” “Well, actually she is a bit older, but close enough” Gwen said. “We’ll take them”. The sales assistant looked a bit surprised that I was even older than 8 years old, and still in nappies in the daytime, but covering it up she opened the other package. This contained a similar pair of plastic pants, although with pictures of clowns on. After paying for the purchases, we left the shop, the sales assistant looking at my waddling walk.

Our next stop was an ice cream parlour. Sitting outside eating our ice creams, I felt a surge in my abdomen. I hadn’t been able to empty my bowels that morning as I’d been in too much of a hurry to rush over to Lornas. Now however my oversight was coming back to haunt me. “Auntie Gwen” I whispered, “I need to do a poo”. I hoped Lorna hadn’t heard – I wasn’t very comfortable with anyone but auntie Rosie seeing me doing a poo but Gwen I could just about handle. Gwen looked concerned. “Well”, she said. “I haven’t bought any nappies to change you – do you think you can hold on until we get home?” I looked up at her. “I’ll try” I said in a shaky voice. I wasn’t used to waiting – in the past I hadn’t had much success. “Come on, let’s go” said Gwen taking my hand. Lorna looked quizzically at her. “Davey needs to do a poo, so we’d better get back home” she said. Lorna looked at me. “We don’t want baby to mess his pants do we” she said. Gwen smiled. “It wasn’t that long ago I would have been saying something similar to you” she said. Lorna smiled back – “but I’m past all that aren’t I, I’m not baby anymore”. “No dear,” Gwen said, “but boys are always slower than girls, and some boys” looking down at me “are much slower”. We walked back to the car, my bowels protesting more and more. I started to cry as we reached the car. “Auntie Gwen, I don’t think I can hold it in” I said. “Never mind dear” said Gwen, “ it won’t be the first time I’ve had to change a smelly bottom”. She looked over at Lorna who at least had the grace to look mildly sheepish. “But do try and be a big boy – really, we’ll be home soon”. I nodded my head miserably and we started off. It was no use though. Halfway home I couldn’t hold it any more. With a quiet sob, I had to let go to release the pressure in my bowels. I could feel the poo filling the seat of my nappy and squishing around my thighs, and the car instantly filled with the smell of the results of my lack of control. Gwen smiled, as the smell bought back memories. Lorna was more vocal. “Phew” she groaned, opening the window, “baby really does need changing now”. I sat there quietly with tears running down my face as we reached home. As I walked in, I could feel my nappy, filled, and soaking wet, hanging down. Gwen took me by the hand again and brightly said “I know a little boy who needs a bath”. Taking me upstairs, with Lorna following, we headed for the bathroom.

As she ran the bath, she stood me in front of her. My nappy, very full and wet, sagged down. Gwen pulled the front of my plastic pants down and unfastened the pins. She then pulled the nappy and pants off together, and wiped away as much of the poo from my bottom as possible with a flannel. Plonking me in the bath she poured in a cup of bubble bath and left me to play while she took the plastic pants off and rinsed the nappy in the toilet. From the same cupboard that she had earlier taken out a nappy for me, she pulled out a nappy bucket with a resealable lid. “I didn’t think I’d need this again” she said to herself, as she half filled it with water and dumped my nappy and plastic pants into it. Meanwhile Lorna had started to wash me with the flannel. Standing me up in the bath, she carefully washed me all over with a flannel, taking care to thoroughly clean my nappy area. I felt humiliated having a girl my age washing me, but since she had just watched me having my dirty nappy unpinned I couldn't really feel much worse, Finished at last, Gwen took over. She laid a large towel on her lap and lifted me out of the bath and sat me on top of it. Drying my top half, she laid me on her lap on my back while she dried around my bottom. Lorna was ready with some baby powder which was lavishly sprinkled on me, and then Lorna handed Gwen another towelling nappy. One of my new pair of plastic pants – the ones with teddy bears and rattles was pulled up my legs, and over my nappy. Standing me up, my dress was pulled over my head and Gwen carried me downstairs. She sat the couch and nestled me into her arms. After the emotion of the long day, I buried my face into her breasts and drifted off to sleep, the picture of innocence and helplessness smelling sweetly of baby powder, and dressed only
burt1234 burt1234
41-45, M
4 Responses Jan 17, 2013

lovely story

Hmmm. Glad everyone enjoyed the stories. Have you considered pointing out that they weren't actually written by you? I wrote them (and "Still in nappies") for zity.bitz in 2008. The other stories you have cut and pasted have also been around for a while. Whilst I am glad that other people are getting as much pleasure from my stories as I did when I wrote them, a note acknowledging the original author, or at least a disclaimer saying they weren't your own stories would seem to be only fair.


Fair comment! I\'ve amended the story to suit, cheers

Lovely story, I wish it could have been me.

Your stories are just how I would have loved to have been treated when I was a child.