Even holding my pillow tightly over my head couldn't block out the constant sounds of banging, crashing and occasional casual swearing that were coming from outside my bedroom window.

I mean it was a Saturday and I was a teenager, if only just, so didn't I deserve a lie in? No clearly I didn't, as there they went again dropping stuff, banging stuff into other stuff and generally making as much noise as it was possible in our narrow street.

Why didn't mum go and tell them to shut up? Hell, it wouldn't have surprised me if mum had put them up to it. Just so that I don't "Rot in my pit" or whatever weirdness she'd come out with instead of just saying what she means. Why do mum's do that?

In the end though, it was no use. There was no way I was going to be able to sleep through all that noise, and it didn't seem like the noise was going to be stopping any time soon so I might as well get up. You never know, it could have been lunch time already.

It wasn't.

It was barely nine o'clock and in the morning no less. A time no self-respecting thirteen year old boy, such as myself, should have even been aware of let alone actually awake by on a weekend morning.

"Crap!" I mumbled, rolling over onto my back, as my bladder caught on to the fact I was awake, and apparently needed an instant wee, even though I'd been perfectly fine a few seconds earlier.

I almost said 'Crap!' again but didn't want to give my bum any ideas, so I pushed myself up into a sitting position, and then spun around on my bum, so my legs could slide out from underneath the bed covers and bend themselves over the side. My toes stretched trying to find the carpet which they soon did, tangling themselves in the soft threads of a rug I'd had since I was born.

The urge to stretch overtook me so I gave in to it, pushing my arms up in the air and my legs straight out, hearing my not-growing-fast-enough bones crack with some satisfaction, as my ankles and wrists attempted to escape from my pyjamas.

Ah yes, my pyjamas. Standard issue for boys back in my grandad's day, being the classic blue and white stripes, with overly large white buttons that formed freaky red rings on my chest should I happen to sleep on my front. There was a drawstring on the trousers that was forever getting knotted or tangled, but I couldn't leave it undone or else it would trail down inside and attempt to wrap itself around my willy.

Yeah, I call it a willy. Always have done. Mum does too, no matter how many times I ask her not to talk about those parts of me, but she's a mum so all I get in return is the 'I used to wash you as a baby' speech that I've heard so many times I can recite it word for word. Not that I'm ever going to do that!

Much the same would happen if I tried to sleep in my boxer shorts and a t-shirt like I'm pretty sure everyone else in the third year at William Elliot Comp does. The it's the 'What if you get a chill and die in the night from having bare limbs,' speech even if it's the middle of summer and like a million degrees in my room. That isn't even the silliest excuse she has come up with. That honour has to go to the 'what if we have to evacuate the house in the middle of the night and you're stuck in your underwear.' one, to which I'm pretty sure there is no answer I can give that doesn't end with my dying from some deadly plague that could only have been avoided if I'd worn 'real' pyjamas when I went to bed.

If you're wondering why I don't just do it anyway. Well, been there, done that back when I was eleven with what I called at the time 'The Great Pyjamas Revolt', but which mum just calls 'that silliness.'

Okay so perhaps it was a bit on the silly side to go to bed in my pyjamas as normal and then remove them once I'd been tucked in. But, hey I was eleven, and that's the sort of thing that eleven year olds do. Mind you, it didn't work, as what I didn't know was that mum used to sneak into my room when she and dad went to bed, just to check on me. Something she'd apparently done every night since I was baby. Which is a fair bit beyond creepy to be honest. Still best I found out about it back then, rather than now when there are things I do in bed I really don't want mum finding out about.

Dad helped me out with that one, during a chat that was no fun for either of us but which had to be done. A compromise being reached that I'd promise to wear my 'real' pyjamas and dad would see that mum stopped the nocturnal stalking.

Anyway, so that's why I was wearing my grandad's pyjamas when I went scuttling – one of mum's words naturally – from my bedroom to the bathroom, to empty my bladder which was starting to take on the proportions of a storage tanker, right up until the moment I let rip with my fire hose into the toilet.

"That you Jamie?" mum shouted from downstairs as I was padding my bare feet back across the hall to my room, a flush and a wash of my hands later.

"No!" I shouted back engaging the teenage sarcasm mode I'd only recently discovered. "It's a space alien who has just beamed into the house to check you dusted the skirting boards this week."

I was quite proud of that one and I could hear Dad sniggering somewhere in the house. Mum though just took it in her stride.

"Oh right, that is much more likely than my son being out of his pit before noon on a bright sunny day."

Quickly I killed the smile that was threatening to make itself known on my face just in time for Mum to get even more into the theme.

"Well, Mr. Space Alien, if you've finished inspecting my housework skills and happen to bump into my sleepyhead of a son, could you inform him that the Russells have finally arrived."

"The Who?" I mumbled which of course mum's bat-like hearing still managed to pick up.

"No, not The Who, Mr Space Alien. Why would an old rock band that my dad likes move into the house over the road."

Had to admit that was kind of funny but I still didn't laugh, as there had to be more. And there was.

"Anyway, Mr. Space Alien, can you inform my son that as he is up anyway, he should go and say hello to the new neighbours, as I hear the Russells have sons around his age and it's about time he made friends and got out of the house a bit more instead of getting under my feet all the time."

I wasn't really listening by the time she got to the end of her rant, although I did throw a "Yes Mum!" out just so she wouldn't be tempted to repeat herself before I was under my bedroom blinds with my nose pressed up to the glass staring at the big removal van that was parked right outside on the other side of the street. It was the men unloading it that had been making all the noise. Mum must have told me the new neighbours were arriving today, but to be honest, I don't really listen to most of what Mum says ever since old Mrs. Nester died over there. After all, what boy is interested in funerals, wills, family disputes, house valuations, estate agent's adverts, and house viewings. I was, however very interested in the prospect of finally getting some other kids on the street, seeing as I'd been all by myself for as long as I could remember.

Quickly realising that being seen peering through a window wasn't the best way to be introduced to possible friends, especially when mum was probably doing the same thing downstairs, I got out of my pyjamas the quick way. Top over the head, and trousers down to the ankles.

Grabbing a set of clothes that would be bound to impress my peers, and which certainly wasn't the suit that was hanging on my wardrobe, I made a run for the stairs, only to end up sliding all over the polished wood on the landing.

Shoes. I'd forgotten to put shoes on. Great impression that would have made. Looking like some tramp.

A few seconds later, and properly shod, I was heading downstairs as fast as I could without actually appearing to be running in the house, and out through the front door at the bottom before Mum could remind me about just how important a breakfast was to my digestive system. Something she probably still would have done had I not met one of the new neighbours before she'd made it to the front door.

The boy was standing beside the back of the removal van, slightly round our side of it, and quite possibly hiding before my sudden appearance and the slamming of our front door caused him to look over at our house. He looked like he was a year or two younger than me, which wasn't ideal, but would do for the lack of anything better. Odd thing was though, that he seemed familiar although for the life of me, I couldn't think why. He though, turned out to have a much better memory than me.

"Hey, I know you," he said, crossing the road, "You go to William Elliot Comp, don't you?"

I did and instantly started mentally running through all the faces I knew from school trying to place him but still coming up blank, for which there turned out to be a very good reason as he then explained.

"I only started there last week. Seems okay, as schools go."

"It is," I confirmed meeting him at our gate, or at least where our gate will be should dad ever get around to fixing it and putting it back.

"I'm Dylan," he introduced himself, so I did the same and we were off talking. Well, Dylan was talking, I was listening, something that living with Mum has made me rather good at.

"Moving house is REALLY boring. You ever done it? I didn't even know we had most of this crap and mum is being really weird about where she wants everything to go. Do you know what I mean?"

Having spent thirteen and a bit years in the house standing directly behind me, I had no idea what going somewhere else was like but if there was one thing I did know about it was Mums being weird which made Dylan laugh and then shout for his.

"What?" a frazzled looking lady's head popped up seemingly from inside one of the many boxes that were scattered around the Russell's front lawn.

"Mum. This is Jamie. He lives over there and goes to my new school."

Very nearly I got to say hello but never got the chance as Dylan's mum gave me a wave with what looked like a baby's bib that could have meant anything from 'Hello, how are you doing?' to 'Who the hell cares!' before she dove back into the box she'd emerged from. Still that seemed to be all Dylan needed to spread the good word, with another couple of shouts designed to raise the dead. Or at least his brothers anyway.

"OSCAR! TIMMY!"

They appeared from behind the van. One on either side. An older and younger version of Dylan. The former dressed in the same way, Dylan and I were, while the youngest wore a plain t-shirt and nylon shorts that appeared to be several sizes too big, unless of course, his bum was quite as enormous as it appeared.

Introductions followed. Just the standard boy thing of names, ages, where we went to school and which classes we had. There were no real surprises in any of that. Oscar, the oldest one turned out to be fourteen and also went to William Elliot Comp, but was in an advanced set, whatever that was. Timmy was 'almost' nine, and went to a junior school I hadn't heard of, not that I knew many of them other than the one I'd gone to, and it wasn't that one.

Once all that was sorted out, we got in a bit of a rut until Timmy decided that we should all play a game together. Something that Dylan clearly saw as a way to get out of more moving house stuff, so he called it.

"Tag!" he said both choosing the game and with a tap on my chest, picking me to be 'it' first at which point the brothers disappeared in three different directions, giving me little option but to chase them, even if the game did seem a little childish, and somewhat sweaty.

Running around in the sort of cheap and rather thick jeans that mum gets me in what would later be called a mini-heatwave wasn't the greatest idea Dylan Russell ever had, even if he didn't know I hadn't dressed to go running about like a mad thing. In less than half an hour I was drenched in sweat, and the brothers weren't that far behind, so the game was called a draw, when we all ended up in the Russell's back garden.

I'm not sure who started it but it didn't take long for the two youngest to head for the hose pipe to call down, which naturally turned into a water fight in a matter of seconds.

Once more we all scattered. Well me and Oscar did. Both taking shelter behind the many mature trees that were dotted around the surprisingly spacious if overgrown garden. There we were safe from the jets of water that were flying about all over the place as Timmy and Dylan got into a tangle over ownership of the hose itself.

"Your brothers are crazy!" I told Oscar whilst watching as Timmy pulled off his red shirt and started to flap it at Dylan like he was in some Spanish bullfight and his brother was the bull. Only bulls don't grab shirts being waved at them, but then matadors don't jump on the back of bulls and wrestle them to the ground trying to get their shirts back, either.

"Yeah, they can be. Funny though." Oscar smiled at me and me at him, like in some soppy romance thing which was only broken when there was a cry from the matador that made us both look in that direction only to see that not only had Dylan managed to make off with his little brother's shirt, but he'd somehow managed to get hold of his shorts as well.

The moment he saw us looking, Dylan took off running straight down the centre of the garden, swinging the liberated clothes above his head, while Timmy gave chase dressed only in his underwear. Or at least that's what I thought at first, but as he got closer I noticed something odd about his underwear. They were made of plastic, and see through. Also they weren't really underwear as he had something under them. Something that looked very much like a nappy.

Not exactly sure I was seeing what I was seeing, I really wanted to get a better look but for obvious reasons didn't want Oscar and Dylan to see me trying to check out their little brother's underwear, not that I got to do either given that Timmy was running like only an eight year old can with his arms and leg seemingly going in all directions at once. One thing was sure though. He really wasn't embarrassed about what he was wearing, or about being debagged like that. In fact he was laughing as hard as all of us, while shouting all the things he was going to do to Dylan when he caught him. All of which is probably why Dylan threw the clothes to me, the first chance he got.

The instant he did, Timmy changed direction, spinning on the spot to turn all his attention on me, which forced me to do some serious back-peddling as he charged me as fast as he could, until there was a tree in the way and I had to resort to holding the dripping clothes up above my head.

Naturally Timmy jumped for them, and probably could have reached them if he wasn't having so much fun ramming himself into me in order to make me throw the clothes away or risk getting 'squished' into the tree. I choose the former. Tossing the clothes to where Oscar should have been. But wasn't.

"Got them!" yelled Timmy in triumph, bending right over directly in front of me to pick them up which certainly confirmed what I'd earlier suspected. He really was wearing not just plastic pants but a nappy as well. Not only that, he certainly wasn't bothered about me knowing he had some wetting problem, as although he put his shirt on, he left his shorts off, so I could still see the nappy.

"What all the noise out here about?"

Half expecting my mum to have magically appeared to tell me I was in trouble, I turned to see that it wasn't her but instead a man standing there and there was no mistaking that he was the Russell boys' dad given that he was the dead spit of all of them. Just older.

"Nothing Dad," the two youngest replied, confirming it for me, whilst grinning like they really were up to something. Oscar just shrugged like a proper teenager should. For me I just hung back waiting for the shouting to start, about the mess we'd made, the water that was everywhere and, of course, Timmy being in the state he was in.

There was none of that though. Mr. Russell wasn't even bothered about the state we'd got everything in, let alone angry. He was smiling. I mean really smiling, not the fake smiling my mum does when she disapproves of something but can neither do anything about it, or show how annoyed she is.

Turns out Mr. Russell had been watching us for a bit, cos he knew my name, and that I lived over the road. He even said he was glad his boys had found a friend and then invited me over any time that I wanted to come. I didn't even have to knock. I could just let myself in which is something Mum doesn't even let me do at our house.

Just to be sure though, I did the entire introduction thing, followed by a bit of 'Welcome to the neighbourhood' speech that I knew they'd be hearing again from mum before too long if not sooner, especially if I didn't get back home quickly.

Mind you I had every intention of coming back as there were so many questions that needed answering about the Russells, none of which I wanted to share with my mum.

"Do you want to stay for lunch Jamie?" Mr. Russell offered and I would have loved to have snatched his hand off, but knew that I had to report back to mum first, so I just told him I had to ask my mum, which made him smile and call me a 'Good Boy!', which should have annoyed me at thirteen but didn't for some reason.

It took me nearly half an hour to escape from mum's cross examination during which I had to impart every little bit of information on what I'd seen, heard or experienced whilst I'd been at the Russell house. Some of what I told her was even true, most of it was just bluster. Naturally I missed out everything she wouldn't have liked, which was pretty much everything to do with the boys. I did say the entire family was nice, and ordinary, which she liked and had the added benefit of being true. There was, of course, no mention of nappies or plastic pants.

When I got back to the Russell's house, the older brothers were up in what was to become one of their bedrooms playing a board game on the floor which I was instantly invited to join, even though it meant they had to start all over again.

I hadn't played a board game in years, but I guessed that was all they'd been able to find in the boxes that were still everywhere. The fact that they were allowed to play at all, when there was still so much left to do was something I had trouble getting my head around as I'd never have been allowed to do that. Not in a million years. Or however long Mum was planning to stay alive.

We played for a while sitting right there on the floor, and it was pretty good fun, yet it only got really interesting when Timmy came into the room wearing nothing else but the same nappy and plastic pants I'd seen out in the garden.

"Can I play?" he asked, scratching his tummy, right above the top of the plastic pants.

Now when a little kid usually asks to play with the big kids they would tell him to go away, perhaps not using those exact words depending on if adults were listening but the Russells clearly weren't like that as Dylan agreed without even looking up, telling his little brother he was on my team.

"Yay!" Timmy gave a little jump of excitement before running over and dropping down onto his padded bum right next to me, just as I was trying not to stare at him and failing miserably.

There was no denying it now. An eight year old was wearing a nappy. It was there plain for me to see, all white and bunched up between his spread apart legs, with dark blue tapes across his hips holding it all in place. It wasn't just between his legs either as it extended up almost to his belly button, all of which was visible through the plastic pants that covered it completely, whilst leaving it totally visible at the same time.

The plastic pants were more interesting than I'd first suspected too, mainly because they didn't look like anything I'd ever seen before. Not even on a real baby.

That I was seeing them at all was naturally the first surprise as who would have see-through underwear, especially if you had a nappy on underneath it? There was also the shiny nature of the plastic itself to consider. Then there was the apparent grip of the elastic around each of Timmy's slightly chunky thighs which was nothing like what was around his waist. Instead of the single band of elastic running around his waist there was more some sort of belt arrangement instead. A belt that had the strangest looking buckle on it. One that had a slot in the middle like something could be put in there, although for what reason I couldn't work out. It was also the reaspm why I didn't notice that Timmy had been followed into the room.

"Cute!" Mrs. Russell said, looking a lot less frazzled than when I'd last seen her, "Looks like my little baby boy has found a new friend."

"Yeah," Timmy leaned back to give me a somewhat awkward hug, "Jamie is the bestest."

Mrs. Russell's smile got even bigger and she didn't even correct Timmy's grammar. "I'm sure he is, as not everyone gets to play with Baby Timmy, even if he does seem to have forgotten something."

Clothes was my guess but that wasn't it at all.

"Oh!" Timmy let go of me and sat back up, holding his arms out as if he wanted to be picked up but that's not what he meant, as I discovered when Mrs. Russell pulled something from behind her back and tossed it to her youngest who instantly put it in his mouth.

"Now that's even cuter," she sighed before leaving us alone. Her two eldest boys continued to play the game laid out on the floor between us, while I looked totally confused and the eight year old in the nappy carried on sucking on the oversized baby's dummy.

"Do it up for him would you, Jamie?"

I didn't understand so Timmy shook his head from side to side, making the straps that were attached to the face plate of the dummy fly around.

"Be a good boy and buckle that up for him would you Jamie?" Mrs. Russell appeared in the doorway, smiling at me in a way that would get me to do anything for her. All the same, it was such a strange thing that I had to ask why?

"So he can't spit his dummy out, of course," Dylan said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, which it was, Sort off. "And hurry up will you as it's your go."

Before I could say anything to that, Timmy went and plunked himself right in my lap, with his back towards me. His hands reaching back over his shoulders, holding the two ends of the restraining strap to make it easier to do as I was asked. So that's what I did. Pulling both parts of the strap behind his head. Threading one through the buckle on the other, and then pulling it snug to fasten it. I then had to undo it again as Timmy complained it wasn't tight enough. At least that's how Oscar translated the mumbling the little boy made but as Timmy didn't protest when I fixed it one notch tighter that is probably what he wanted.

That's how we stayed for the rest of the game. Me sitting with a boy wearing a nappy and plastic pants on my lap, listening to him suck on the dummy strapped into his mouth, as I pitted myself against his brothers who had the distinct advantage of me being almost totally distracted right up until the time I heard a knock on the front door and just knew Mum hadn't been able to wait any longer.

As much as I didn't want to, I pushed Timmy from my lap, got up and raced downstairs before mum could make a show of herself to these neighbours just as she had done to all the others. That didn't happen, thankfully, although mostly due to Mr. and Mrs. Russell being so nice that even mum couldn't wind them up. Not with her comments about the street looking untidy with their boxes all over it. Or remarks about the decor of the house. Or the state of the garden. Or even all that noise that had woken her son up, regardless of the fact that her son – me – was stood right there, blushing and trying to get her back over the road before she ruined what I was sure was going to be a great thing, for me.

***

"Hey Oscar are your parent's here?" I wasted no time in getting directly to the point the next time I was over at the Russell's place, even though I'd already spotted that the family car wasn't there.

"No, they're taken Timmy some place," the fourteen year old glanced up from the television he'd been watching when I knocked and probably would have continued to stare at had he not noticed something about the nervous way I was pacing about, "Why? What's Up?"

"I was just wondering something, that's all."

"Wondering what?" he picked up the remote control flicking the television off so suddenly that silence seemed to pour into the house.

This was it. I was just going to have to ask him, the thing I'd been pondering for ages, "It's about Timmy. Is he sick or something?"

"No. Why would you think that?"

"Because of, you know, him wearing nappies and plastic pants and…"

Oscar laughed, "Oh that. No he just likes wearing them. That's all."

It may have been all to him, but it really wasn't to me, so I asked why but the answer I got only confused me further.

"Says they make him feel like a baby, and he likes that."

"But he's eight isn't he. That's too old for all that stuff, isn't it?"

"Maybe," he shrugged, "Mum and dad say kids grow up differently and it's not like he's hurting anyone while he's playing baby, so where's the harm?"

I was unable to think of one, which left me with nothing to say and yet still loads of questions going around inside my head. None of which made very much sense and all of them were confusing me no end. Which is when Oscar offered to show me something.

He didn't say what, but as he got up from the sofa and started to walk towards the kitchen, and then into the utility room, I had no idea where he was going until he told me.

"This was a workshop when we moved in but now it's a nursery."

Now I was confused again. Why would they need a nursery. They didn't have a baby.

"Don't we?" laughed Oscar as he pushed open the door to show the pale blue wallpaper covered in little fluffy cartoon animals that lay beyond. "Go on. Have a look."

I went in, standing on the softest rug I'd ever felt, that was in the middle of what was clearly a nursery not least because there was a large crib in the corner, that had the front rail lowered to show the plastic covered mattress inside.

In another corner was a waist high changing table, the lower shelves of which were filled with nappies of various styles, along with neatly folded plastic pants alongside various bottles and tubs.

A highchair on wheels sat next to that, opposite a play pen, with high raised sides, had been set up. Between all these big items of furniture were shelves that held a variety of little kids' games, and all the other stuff you need to look after a baby, like bottles, sippy cups, bibs, and so on.

Nothing looked at all out of place at first but as I continued to stare at everything, I always came back to my first point. The Russell's didn't have a baby. Their youngest was eight year old Timmy. And then the penny dropped.

"Wait, is all this for Timmy?"

"Yeah, of course. Why else would we have it?"

It was a fair enough answer to what I now felt was a pretty stupid question, that left me feeling a little bit embarrassed about asking so I quickly deflected with another question, "Where do you get baby stuff that's big enough for an eight year old?"

"Oh there are loads of places, but Dad makes the furniture himself."

That was interesting to a point where I repeated myself. "They make baby stuff big enough for eight year old's?"

"Sure. And older than that too. You'd be surprised."

I was. Perhaps a touch too much, or perhaps not enough. Whichever it was, it make Oscar suggest something that was going to change my life.

"Hey, why don't you try some nappies on. Then you can see what it's like to wear them."

"Me?" I gasped, as if there was someone else he could be talking to.

"Sure. Why not?" Oscar walked past me towards the changing table, "I think we've got some that should nearly fit you for when Timmy wants to be doubled or trippled up."

He had to explain what that meant, leaving my mind spinning from the notion that a boy would not just want to wear one nappy but two or three at the same time. Yet one part of me was very accepting of that idea as Oscar was quick to notice once he'd found what he was looking for and turned back around holding a pair of oversized disposable nappies, in his hand and a big smile on his face.

"Timmy's does that too whenever he sees nappies only his is less obvious cos, well, he's eight."

I flashed a blush so bright that it probably lit up the entire room, if not the street outside as well, but as Oscar didn't seem to mind I did nothing to cover up the tent that had appeared in my sweat pants, given that Oscar had not only already seen it but commented on it too.

"Tell you what," Oscar put down what he'd been holding, "If you want to wear nappies that bad why don't you let me help you."

A moment later and the tent was gone from my sweat pants, or rather the sweat pants were gone from the tent, along with my boxers. Both of which were now down around my ankles. Thankfully my t-shirt was quite long so that covered most of me, although that was now tented, as it covered me up.

Then Oscar pushed me. Once. Right in the middle of the chest sending me falling backwards, tripped over by the clothing still around my ankles.

Instinctively I put my hands out to steady my fall, only for Oscar to grab them and use my own momentum to guide my fall so that I ended up leaning against the changing table.

"Up you get!"

His hands went under my arms, hoisting me up until my now bare bottom was sitting on the cold plastic of the changing table.

"Right, we won't be needing these."

My sweat pants and boxers were pulled over my trainers and I was given another tap to the chest that sent me toppling backwards once more, until I was laying flat out on the changing table watching as Oscar snatched up the nappy he'd picked out for me, and then proceeded to do to me, what he'd no doubt done to his little brother dozens of times before.

Grabbing both my ankles in one of his hands, Oscar expertly lifted my legs to a point where my bottom no longer made contact with the changing table, giving him just enough space to slip the nappy underneath me.

Powder was produced from one of the shelves, and sprinkled where it had to go, which mean my t-shirt had to be lifted, so that my stiffy could be coated in the white stuff, as were my balls, and quite a lot of the surrounding area, not to mention sending a small cloud up into the air.

"It's going to be a little small I'm afraid," apologised Oscar as he pulled the front of the nappy up between my legs, and then pulled and tugged on the sides around my hips until they all met up on top, where he made short work of taping the entire thing together. "There. That does it. See what you think?"

He put his hand out helping me sit up which was a strange experience given all the softness that was now wrapped around me.

"There's a mirror on the wardrobe if you want to see what you look like?"

I did. The nappy was tight on me, I knew that already which wasn't a surprise of course, seeing that it had been made for someone younger than me and I guess I should have been embarrassed that it fit at all, but I wasn't. I rather liked it. I must have done because I was still stiff inside it, even as Oscar helped me down from the changing table and pointed me in the direction of the mirror.

The first shock was the way I could no longer walk. At least not normally. My legs weren't pushed apart all that much but enough so that I took on a bit of a waddle.

The second shock was a more obvious one. I no longer looked like a teenager, but an over grown toddler. A tall one certainly, but not the thirteen year old that I was used to be seeing.

One thing was certain and that was my T-shirt didn't fit the image which is why I pulled it off. At least I assume that's why I did it as I don't really remember taking it off. Only that once it was gone, Oscar said that Timmy often didn't like wearing anything with his nappy either other than his plastic pants, which gave him another idea.

"Hey, why don't we see if we can find some for you. Wait there a minute."

I did. Mainly because I wasn't really listening to him. He soon had my attention though when I head the sound of flapping plastic next to me I turned to see him standing there holding a pair of clear plastic pants.

"Try these," he said, holding them open for me to step into.

It was a bit wobbly for me to stand on one leg whilst wearing a nappy, but Oscar offered his sturdy shoulders for me to hold onto as I placed first one foot and then the other through the leg holes of the plastic pants. I then stood there, doing nothing other than shivering slightly as the elastic in the leg openings became tighter and tighter around my thighs, while Oscar pulled the infantile garment up.

When the plastic pants reached the nappy, Oscar worked them slowly over it, pulling out the waistband with both hands, and asking me to suck in my stomach until such time as the elastic was once more touching my skin. He then asked me to hold my breath one more time as he did something behind my back that caused the waistband to suddenly tighten, followed by a soft click.

"What was that?" I asked, looking behind me and seeing the belt like thing I'd seen on Timmy.

"It's a lock. To stop Timmy taking them off," Oscar showed me the small key he'd used.

"Doesn't Timmy like wearing nappies?"

"He does. But he likes it better if he can't take them off by himself. Makes him feel more like a baby."

"Right," I said, not really understanding as I gave the waistband a few tugs before coming to the obvious conclusion, "So I can't take these off either."

"No. Afraid not. Do you want me to unlock them?"

I never got to answer that as just at that moment someone else appeared in the still open doorway to the nursery. Dylan Russell.

"Hey Oscar, what are you doing in here? Are mum and dad back with Baby Timmy?"

"Not yet, I'm here with Jamie."

"Jamie?" Oscar peered around his brother, seeing me for the first time, "Oh hi Jamie. Didn't see you there. Been here long?"

"Yeah! Er! Hi! Not Really!" I said, pretty much all at the same time.

Stepping to one side, Dylan's eyes grew wider and wider as he saw what I was wearing, "So, what have you been up to then?"

Before I could say anything Oscar butted in with the truth, "Jamie just wanted to try on some of Baby Timmy's stuff."

"Yeah, I see that. Suits him," he smirked at me before turning back to his brother, "Hey we got anymore of that orange drink stuff mum got last week?"

"In the cupboard above the sink, but don't drink it all yourself, get some for me and Jamie too."

There followed a fair amount of crashing about in the kitchen interspersed with the occasional curse from Dylan and winces from Oscar worrying about the mess being made. At the end of it all however, Dylan duly returned to the nursery carrying a tray upon which were indeed three drinks. Two in the regular plastic beakers the Russell boys used and the third in what was clearly a large baby's bottle.

"I thought as he was dressed like a baby, then Jamie would want his drink like Timmy has his," he explained when his brother questioned his choice of drink wear.

"Timmy drinks from baby bottles?" I stated the obvious.

"Of course he does when he's being a baby. That's what baby's do." smiled Dylan, his face suddenly lighting up, "Hey, do you want to sit in the high chair too, like Baby Timmy does?"

As if choreographed all three of our heads turned to where that particular piece of furniture was sitting against the wall. All of us apparently thinking the same thing: would I actually fit in it, but none of us knowing the answer, at least until it was wheeled into the middle of the room.

The answer turned out that I could fit, although it wasn't that easy for a teenager to get into a little boy's high chair. Not only did the nappy hinder my walking but it made it impossible for me to climb up into the high chair. However, with the brothers' help I was able to repeat what I'd done with the changing table, backing up to it and then jumping up, and be lifted, into the seat.

Once I was in place, Dylan told me to keep still while he made sure I couldn't fall out. Not that there was really much chance of that, seeing the way I was rammed into the seat. All the same he pulled shoulder straps over either side of my head and another set around my waist, and then clipped them all together in my lap.

"How's that?" he asked when he was done, and I said it was fine even if the straps were a bit on the loose side. That soon changed though when a grinning Dylan did something behind the chair that made all the straps instantly grow tight enough to pin me into the seat.

"A safety feature dad put in so Baby Timmy wouldn't wriggle about," he explained picking up the food tray. "Now put your arms down and I'll put this in place."

I watched as Oscar helped his brother thread the two protruding parts of the food tray into slots on the highchair's arms, and then push the tray all the way in until it was just about touching my stomach, at which point it clicked, signalling that it was locked in place, with my arms underneath it.

Instantly I realised that I was now trapped in the highchair. even if I'd been somehow able to loosen the straps holding my torso, with my hands and forearms trapped under the food tray there was no way I could even try. This should have scared me, but it didn't. It made the contents of my nappy twitch.

"Now we'll show you how Baby Timmy likes to drink his favourite drink," Dylan picked up the baby bottle from the tray, getting a strange look from his brother, that I was soon blocked from seeing as the rubber nipple was pushed into my mouth.

Babies make what I did next look incredibly easy, but I found it surprisingly difficult to suck the liquid from the baby bottle. It was nothing like using a straw at all, which is where I went wrong to start with. In fact it took me several minutes to get the technique right, but once I had, I managed to suck down the contents of the bottle in a few minutes much to Dylan's delight.

"Hey, he likes it Oscar. Can I give him another one?"

He could and did. Replacing that first bottle with another one that I was soon sucking down, even though I wasn't used to drinking so much liquid so quickly, yet there was something about drinking from a baby's bottle that was so much fun I couldn't stop. Not even when a third bottle replaced the second one.

It was when I was nearing the end of that third bottle that the liquid seemed to start running right through me. Of course, what I didn't know until some time later was that Baby Timmy's bottles were laced with a diuretic to make him wet himself, which of course his family all knew about. I didn't so it came as a total surprise to me when I not only found myself wetting myself for the first time in around ten years, but once I'd started I was unable to stop.

It was the weirdest sensation to have that warm wetness spreading itself out from my groin, totally soaking the nappy I was wearing, not just at the front but right the way around until it was all over my bottom as well which really would have had me squirming in my seat, if I was at all able to move. Which I wasn't. The brothers though, noticed my discomfort and knew from experience the reason for it.

"Hey, looks like Jamie likes to use his nappies just like Baby Timmy does," Dylan told his slightly more practical brother.

"We'd best get him changed before he starts to leak."

This seemed like a very good idea to me, as I could already feel the liquid starting to pool around the leg openings of the plastic pants. Dylan also understood but had his own solution to the problem.

"Maybe we can get some nappies that fit Jamie, and plastic pants too, then we won't have to change him all the time."

"Good point!" his brother agreed, "You do that, and I'll get him out of that highchair before it starts to smell of wee."

Dylan ran off at that point, leaving Oscar to do all the work in releasing me from the chair and then helping me down from it and over to the wet room corner, where he removed the plastic pants and then started to clean me up, and do you know what? I didn't stop him.

The End