This story is written by Les Lea
Mum had been quite incensed that Mr Blacklock had demanded that I see a school psychiatrist and, after a discussion with dad, had decided they would make a complaint to the local education authority about the school’s lack of control over bullying.
Both my parents turned up at the Head’s office and told him of their plans. He dismissed them like he’d dismissed me and I think that was a mistake. Whilst he thought their ‘lackadaisical’ parenting was responsible for my wearing nappies to school, they pointed out it was fear on my part that made me do so. The Head was adamant there was no evidence and seemed to forget that the posters of me in a disposable, which had so recently been displayed around the school, should have been enough proof.
He continued with the line there was no actual support to link Cudthorpe with it and, even with his bad reputation, suspicion wasn’t enough. Dad said it would have been at any other school and now he’d spoken to the Head himself, he realised “…what my son has to endure whilst under the jurisdiction of such an ineffectual Principal.”
This didn’t go down well with the Head but at least mum and dad were on the same supportive page so when he got home (I’d enjoyed a day wearing a nappy and pottering around the house) dad apologised for even doubting me for a second. Although I’d confessed all to my brother I hadn’t done the same to my parents so, for the moment at least, I stayed schtum.
Cudthorpe didn’t know I had an older brother because Paul didn’t go to the same school; he’d passed an entrance exam and went to an Academy outside our catchment area. Cuddy had probably seen Helen and me arrive on the same bus, although she then went to the girl’s school opposite the one I went to.
At my brother’s school Friday afternoon is given over to sport. Paul is a keen sportsman playing everything from rugby and football to swimming and wrestling. There are few sports events that don’t have my brother as part of the team and he excels in them all. I’m not sporty at all although I have attended a couple of finals when he’s been involved. When he walks around the house wearing just his rugby or football kit he looks so healthy and strong compared to his weakling little brother… me. Having said that, all I ever think about is my sweet brother who wouldn’t say boo to a goose and always treats me with love and affection.
I wasn’t there but I am reliably informed by those who were that my brother, who must have given up his Friday afternoon of sport to get to the school for the last lesson, confronted my bully.
Those who witnessed it said an unknown lad challenged Cuddy who took a swipe at him. Apparently his mates cheered him on until Paul whacked him twice in quick succession that sent him sprawling. Archie, ever the lieutenant, waded in only to find an elbow in his guts and a stomp on his right arm so it was useless.
With Cuddy not knowing who this person was and wondering why he was being accosted lost it a little and started swearing and bragging about what would happen to his assailant when he recovered.
Meanwhile, that very assailant told him that the thing about bullies was, there was always a bigger bully waiting in the wings… and he wasn’t easy to intimidate.
There were more threats and counter threats but with Cuddy surprised and immobile by his shock attacker, and his gang jeering but doing little else, realised that a real beating might not be too far away. It was the first time since being at our school that he’d been afraid and taken to task for the things he’d done.
Having said that, he was no pussy and confident he could get the better of his assailant. He jumped up and delivered a forceful kick aimed at Paul’s genitals, which was skilfully blocked. However, my brother countered with a devastating punch to the throat that sent Cuddy down gasping for air.
Oddly enough, where this fracas took place was out of sight from any adults. It was home time so the road and spare ground just contained loads of kids dispersing to the surrounding suburban areas.
Paul had chosen his battle ground well so there was no one to intrude on what took place, well no adult anyway. Although if truth be known, my brother (he later confessed to me) had no real idea just how tough his opponent was going to be. However, he had something to do and he didn’t want a grown-up interfering.
The big surprise was that whilst Cuddy was down and desperately gagging for air his unknown assailant announced to the gathering crowd that perhaps ‘the bully’ had a secret of his own.
“Drop your pants.”
The hurting victim stared in disbelief. He couldn’t let it happen, the revelation that was secret to all but he and his mother. The shameful occurrence that had been hushed up for the past five years, so wasn’t about to let that become general knowledge. Suddenly realising what was about to take place Cuddy snarled in defiance before attempting to squirm away.
“Not so quick Cudthorpe.”
Painfully and reluctantly he got to his feet and, hoping to catch his opponent unaware feigned compliance but launched himself at Paul.
After many years of agilely dodging tackles in both rugby and football my brother anticipated this action and countered with a move of his own.
A squealing Cuddy suddenly found a kick to his balls, followed by an arm forced up his back more agony than he wanted to endure. With a crowd of excited, if confused schoolboys looking on, Paul made his move.
He gripped the now cowering bully (the rest of the gang proving to be ineffectual cowards when confronted by someone who could look after himself), yanked down his pants, as Cuddy had so often done to me, and exposed the fact that he wore protection himself.
The protests and swearing, the anger and spite was suddenly transformed to a whimper as his obvious disposable and glossy white plastic pants shone in the sun for all to see.
Despite his arm feeling on the verge of breaking he continued to struggle.
His fight back proved useless as my brother held him immobile. The confident, swearing, loudmouth tried to prevent anyone from seeing his obvious padding.
“As expected, you’re the pants-wetting baby in this school.” Paul announced.
Apparently, there was a loud ‘Whoooaa’, the spectators obviously not believing what had just happened, or what their eyes were witnessing.
Cuddy’s free hand tried to cover the crinkly evidence but Paul held him firm so all who wanted could see for themselves what their antagonist wore.
Baby talk aimed at Cuddy suddenly sprang from some of the braver members of the audience and he was soundly whipped by the barbed and undisguised pleasure they were taking from this embarrassing, yet entertaining, exposé.
The mobiles were out taking photographs of this shattered bully as his secret was documented and shared in an instant. All over the city phones pinged with an incoming photo of a humiliated fifteen year old sobbing and wearing baby pants.
Even those who had no idea who the subject was could enjoy the mortification on the boy’s face. For those who had been victims of the bully, it was a great day and one they would remember, and enjoy re-telling, for a long time to come. It became a very popular screen-saver around the school, where, even some teachers were known to ‘secretly’ have it on their computers and phones.
“Pick on my brother or even mention my sister ever… and you’ll be wearing a fucking nappy for the rest of your life. Are we clear?”
He made sure that anyone in earshot knew he was delivering a final warning. There were a few cheers of approval, a lot of grinning faces and visibly a few who didn’t quite believe what they’d just witnessed.
Cuddy obviously had no idea who he was being attacked by until Paul whispered my name in his ear.
The look of disbelief was followed by another whispered threat that had him instantly crawling away in fear and distress. He desperately tried to pull up his pants because the laughing and baying of the crowd was excruciating. His gang had magically dispersed and it appeared even Archie, nursing a possible broken wrist, was disgusted to see his cousin wearing a nappy.
The school bully scurrying away and clutching his pants tightly around his waist was the last image many of the onlookers saw of Cuddy because he didn’t return to school.
I only found out about this a few days later, even mum and dad didn’t know about it and Paul asked me not to say anything when I told him I knew what had happened. All my parents knew was that the Head invited them in for a chat and an apology. He said that more facts had come to light and he was now convinced Cudthorpe had indeed been bullying me but, as he was now no longer a pupil at the school hoped everything could return to normal.
The need for a psychiatrist report was to be forgotten.
Apparently, the Head heard that a boy from another school had whipped Cudthorpe’s arse but no one knew who he was or where he was from. Of course the Head should have investigated the incident but as neither Cudthorpe nor his family got in touch, and the fact he didn’t return to school (much to the delight of everyone there), Mr Blacklock seemed more than happy with the outcome.
Back at the Cudthorpe residency all hell broke loose when a copy of that photograph reached the father. He had no idea his son wore any kind of protection and blamed his ‘airy-fairy’ wife for ‘fuckin’ babyfying’ their boy. Heenjoyed the fact that the family was ‘feared’ in the community but THIS undermined everything.
He was so disgusted with his son that he wouldn’t let him out of the house and as punishment (as well as a severe beating) was made to wear only his nappy and plastic pants. His father wanted him to be constantly reminded of just what he’d become.
Alas, it didn’t end there because shortly after that people who would normally have run a mile rather than confront any of the Cudthorpes began to take the mickey. Even the hard Dylan
Cudthorpe, leader of his band of vicious but small time criminals, was ridiculed and asked by the many cops he came into contact with if he still wore a nappy like his boy.
The Cudthorpe legacy took a dramatic dive.
Mum and dad were surprised at this turn of events but thought it was due to their threat to reveal the Head as ineffectual; Paul wanted them to stay with that impression and desired no credit for the real reason. In fact, my ‘timid’ brother promised he’d change my nappies for me if I could keep it a secret.
He didn’t need to make such an undertaking because I couldn’t believe my brother would do such a thing. Not that I didn’t think he was tough, I’d just never imagined him being THAT tough, he was always so gentle with me. I told him I’d keep his secret as long as mum and dad didn’t ask… I was afraid of lying to them. He agreed that would be okay and patted my plastic pants and said I really was the sweetest toddler around.
He always knew what to say to cheer me up, even when I didn’t know I needed cheering up.
I hugged my hero and kissed his cheek in thanks.
However, dad agreed with the Head that there was now no excuse for me to wear a nappy to school and it was settled (reluctantly by me) that all my nappy wearing would be done outside of school hours.
When I got back to school, minus padding, Quentin, who apparently had witnessed the entire thing, was totally in awe of my brother. Other than the humiliation of being found out to be a pants-wetter (ha-ha), at the time we had no idea why Cuddy suddenly left school. Both of us noticed that the secondary bullying seemed to have lessened and people were being nice to us. Well, perhaps not nice but certainly not as nasty as it had once been.
“Shame about the nappy,” Quentin offered his commiserations, “I know you liked the security but…”
“It’s best to keep school and home separate… I hope your parents are still okay with you wearing…”
“Mum, Paul and Helen are all fine, it’s just dad who’s not keen but hasn’t put a ban in place so…”
“Well that’s good. I bet you look enchanting when you’re only wearing protection.”
I was a bit shocked. He’d never spoken like this before and I wriggled guiltily in my ‘normal’ underwear because I couldn’t now show him just how much I loved my padding.
“When I’m home I can forget my school uniform and enjoy the soft fabrics I like to wear.” Quentin was letting me in on something very personal. “I do like a lot of girlie stuff… clothes, satin, lace, silk panties… and dolls,” he looked over at me, “even the occasional nappy. As long as the fabric is soft and fluffy… I like it.”
His voice had changed from the confident one he used in class to a softer, more intimate one, like he was sharing something special… with someone special.
Although everyone said he was the school sissy this was the only real acknowledgement that he was in any way effeminate… and he had no qualms about it.
“Do you like to, erm, um, dress like a girl?” I cautiously asked.
He whispered his reply.
“Sometimes… but it’s mostly I just like the feel of girl’s clothes… they’re softer, not as rigid as boy’s clothes… though I’m not so much for painted nails and make-up… that type of thing.”
He was letting that sink in.
“I suppose I’m a boy but dressed in nice girlie stuff. Mummy and daddy have never pressured me to wear one thing over another… except for school… and I could see the sense in wearing a uniform like everyone else.”
Then his voice went even softer as he let me in on one of his big secrets.
“Sometimes, when we don’t have games or gym, I wear a nice frilly nylon pair of panties and, knowing I have them on, make me feel different all day.”
I could relate to this because that’s exactly the way my nappy made me feel. It seemed strange that Quentin kept his secret whilst I wore mine so everyone could see. However, I realised I had a better excuse than he did and why I was able to get away with it… to some degree at least. I’m sure if the rest of the school knew what Quentin wore under his school trousers they would have made his life hell.
He looked me in the eye.
“And sometimes, like you, I just want to escape to being a kid again and a thick fluffy nappy and pair of slinky vinyl pants is ideal.”
Quentin was sharing quite a bit and although I was stunned by his revelations, I liked the fact that he wasn’t ashamed to tell.
The other thing he let me in on was he was perhaps one of them few people who knew it was my brother who had attacked Cuddy. He’d been near enough to hear the whispered name that Paul had said to him that made my persecutor confused and distressed. He didn’t tell his daddy who Cuddy’s assailant was though… all he said to me was he wished he had a brother who would protect him like that. I said we are already ‘brothers’ in so many ways. He appreciated that.
Apparently, at a very young age his mummy had discovered him wearing some of her clothes. She didn’t want to scare the boy so asked if he enjoyed dressing up. He told her he liked certain things and pointed to what those were.
She bought him his own version and sizes and put them in his drawer so, when he wanted to, he could wear them without using hers. Over the years his desire for soft and silky things grew and so did his collection. It made him a very happy boy and without the pressure from his family to be anything other than himself, he was equally at home wearing boys or girls clothes.
I discovered all this because, over the next few weeks, Quentin and I got quite close. We even had sleepovers at each other’s house and when he slept in my room he wore a nappy and when I was at his, well he liked me to wear a nappy, whilst he wore a lovely silky pair of pyjamas. I tried them, and whilst they were very nice I preferred my fabric nappy.
I was a little nervous about meeting his parents but I needn’t have been. His mother was a very happy, jovial woman, who took great pride in her brilliant son’s abilities. His father was a surprise. I had expected him to be serious, tall and brooding, him being a high-ranking cop and all. He was nothing like the ones on TV; he was small, roly-poly, never stopped cracking jokes and loved his flamboyant boy. I was enthusiastically greeted and instantly made to feel very welcome. They knew about my nappy wearing but it didn’t bother them at all.
Oh and something else, his room was twice the size of mine, didn’t smell of talc and was immaculate. His clothes were all neatly hung up or colour coded in his drawers and he had the most amazing collection of silks and satiny underwear, which I have to admit looked pretty good on him. In his bottom draw were pink ‘Princess’ style disposables and pink plastic panties, which I’ve seen him in and he looks fantastic.
I was incredibly pleased how quickly my family took to my guest. They knew he’d been my one support through the ‘crisis’ so that was already in his favour but, he was just so sweet I think they thought of him as like me – someone who was immature and needed looking after.
He wasn’t immature but loved the way our family operated.
This total acceptance was new to him even if his own mummy and daddy were okay with their sissy son, not all his family were of the same understanding. He tried to avoid situations where cousins, aunts and uncles were gathered because he just couldn’t be himself. He’d found a refuge at my home.
There was something else that became apparent. Whereas my Baby Dick became public knowledge because people had seen it in the school changing room, Quentin’s penis was an unknown quantity.
For some reason I just assumed he’d be like me… I was wrong… very wrong.
His silky panties strained beyond belief trying to contain his monster. Cuddy and his mob would have found it very difficult to call him names as I’m sure he’d have put the lot to shame.
It was terrific that we could both appreciate what the other found exhilarating by what we wore so I did try and get into what Quentin liked. There was no doubt that the fine material was very nice and sensual… and I suppose, at a push, I could have happily worn those silky briefs. But I’m afraid that the fact they looked more appropriate on me than him, what with barely a bulge to interrupt their silken flow around my groin, no, no, NO… I preferred that my bits were well covered.
Once I’d seen his bulging out its glossy enclosure he observed the disbelieving look on my face and saw the shame I felt at being so small.
I immediately thought ‘I must be a baby in his eyes… let alone half the school’ but he jumped in quickly.
“I prefer yours.” He smiled. “Mine doesn’t look right on me….” he nodded towards my miniature equipment, “but it suits you.”
I wondered if he had a cruel streak after all.
Noticing my obvious upset he added with a smile.
“Michael, you’re the complete package; a toddler in a nappy and you’re happy. It wouldn’t be right to have a large pee-pee… yours completes the perfect picture… which means my friend… you’re just perfect.”
I could tell from the way he said it that he meant it as a compliment and like Paul, seemed to know what to say to make me feel good about myself.
Quentin and I began to see a lot of one and other so now, having found a friend, we didn’t have to hide from anything or anyone.
However, when he stayed at my house I noticed a very different Quentin if Paul was around. He was bashful, soft and hardly dared speak. I think, because of the dreamy way he looked at him, he saw my brother as some kind of god because he shyly agreed with everything Paul suggested. I knew he wished he had a similar relationship to him that I did.
Thankfully, over the next few weeks he and Paul became friends. Paul couldn’t do enough for Quentin and the same seemed to be true. He made my friend feel welcome every visit and I often found them talking quietly, with Quentin hanging on his every word. I was pleased that my brother was as accepting of my friend’s eccentricities as he was mine – typical of my brother to make him feel special.
With my nappy wearing being confined to the house (most of the time) dad didn’t stop me from dressing how I liked. Thankfully, the rest of the family would secretly change and spoke to me like I was a little kid, which I loved.
When Paul changed me it was always with such thought and tenderness, although the conversation usually got round to talking about Quentin. He’d seen him wearing his silky underwear and asked if I’d ever thought about trying that. I said I was more than happy in a nappy, which brought a smile to his face. However, I did agree that my friend certainly wore his glossy feminine clothes with a style that was very natural. My brother nodded in agreement.
Despite, the soft fabrics he wore, there was no denying the fact that Quentin always looked like a boy. Even in his most girlie creation, he still looked like a boy in feminine clothes. His hair wasn’t long, he never bothered with make-up – there was a strangely steely determination to be a boy despite his girlish preferences. He saw absolutely no difference in a boy playing with dolls, as a boy playing with soldiers.
On one sleepover, as we were getting ready for bed, he slipped into a pair of his well-padded pink princess style pull-ups with frilly plastic pants – he looked stunning. I know Paul thought so because an appreciative whistle escaped his lips. Quentin looked shyly back but didn’t try and hide away and my brother had the biggest smile on his face.
Talking of whom, I was never sure if my parents actually knew what happened at school but Paul kept up the pretence he knew nothing. However, he did keep a watchful eye by occasionally turning up at the school gates on a Friday. I’d find him deep in conversation with Quentin whilst he waited to accompany me home.
I didn’t hear any more from the Head, I also didn’t get any further nonsense from any of the teachers. I suppose eventually Paul had been identified as my brother and a new respect or understanding was agreed in the teacher’s lounge. The two school sissies had a guardian angel that might swoop down at any moment and beat the living daylights out of anyone who gave us grief. It probably wasn’t true but was a theory I liked?
Perhaps he didn’t know it but Paul had instantly become a legend for the many who had suffered at the hands of Cuddy and his kind. That incident was played over and over again by kids who hadn’t even witnessed it but told everyone – ‘they were there’.
Meanwhile, at home I was happy to feel the warm wet material surrounding my little willy, it was a sensation I was beginning to enjoy more and more. Thankfully, that guardian angel changed my nappy when it was soaked and cosseted me in love on a daily basis. He even volunteered to do the same for my friend should he want it when he came to sleep over… an offer that Quentin timidly accepted.
It’s heart-warming to see the affectionate way they each look at one and other when this happens.
What a wonderful, understanding and loving brother I am blessed with.
This story is written by Les Lea
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