The Spider And The Fly

The Spider and the Fly

Pete was a landscape gardener. He was also a man with a private passion. A very private passion; infantilism, to be precise.

Pete liked nothing better than to imagine he was forced to wear, and use, bulky nappies and plastic pants, which he would even have to wear in public – and not always just because he was forced to; in his most exciting visions of an alternate reality, Pete would discover to his horror that he had begun to need nappies. He would start wetting himself – he might even ‘accidentally’ mess himself. Oh the shame, the humiliation.

Pete’s fantasies required his finding a forceful woman who would treat him like a naughty toddler. He had never met such a woman, and had no idea how to find one. A woman like that did not exactly advertise, at least not the financially cheap, girlfriendy sort of woman Pete dreamed of meeting.

So Pete pursued his fetish alone. It was ok, but he felt it lacked a lot, like solo sex.

He’d tried the idea on a few girls.

He tried introducing the idea through a third party: ‘I used to know this girl who wet her bed. 18 and she used to wear disposable nappies to bed in case she wet.’

‘Yuck,’ said his potential strict nursemaid, and meant it.

‘I was in hospital once and I wet the bed. The nurse made me wear this nappy thing,’ he tried with another.

‘How embarrassing. I bet you hated it,’ the girl said. ‘Yuck.’

‘Oops,’ he tried with another prospect, spilling Coke into his lap at a picnic for two. ‘Ha ha. It looks like I wet myself.’

‘Ooh. Gross. At least it’s just Coke.’

How to find the right girl, Pete wondered.

The perfect one would have to be outside his circle of friends. It wouldn’t do for him to be thought weird by anyone he knew.

Then, as sometimes happens, good fortune stared him in the face, if a little indirectly.

Pete was working for a client on the far side of town, when he overheard the lady’s daughter talking to her little friend in the sandpit near the garden bed he was building up.

‘My mommy’s friend Janet made her boyfriend wear a nappy on the plane, because he wets his pants,’ the little girl was telling her wide-eyed playmate.

Pete was all ears.

‘How do you know?’ asked the playmate.

‘She told my mom. She said if he was going to wet his pants like a baby he had to wear a nappy like a baby,’ answered the tattle-tale.

‘What did your mom say?’ asked the little playmate.

‘She said it was disgusting.’

That probably cuts out mom, thought Pete. Who was Janet?

His question was answered the next day, when Janet herself arrived for lunch with ‘mom’. Pete was introduced, took note, and went back to work.

Janet was no raving beauty. She wasn’t ugly, just a little plain with short brown hair and a bit plump, but she had nice big boobs and she was wearing one of Pete’s fantasy favourites – tight jeans that clung to her wide hips, and fitted tight against her pubic mound in front, shouting to the world she was female while she herself seemed oblivious of the highly erotic display. Pete developed a hard-on in about 30 seconds after one glance at her, and thought about her all afternoon. This homely little woman made her boyfriend wear nappies!

Pete was sure Janet had checked out his own crotch when they met. Now, how to get to know her.

Janet herself solved the problem.

‘Do you want a glass of water, Pete?’ Janet asked him, coming outside after the ladies had finished their lunch.

‘Yes please, I could drink a gallon,’ Pete replied, hoping it might give her a vision of him having to pee.

He looked at her boobs again, and her super-sexy crotch, and his penis stirred once more.

‘I won’t give you that much, you might (wet myself? Pete offered mentally) …not feel like working,’ Janet said, and went back inside.

She returned with a bottle of mineral water and a glass.

After a few minutes’ chat, Janet asked Pete to have a look at her garden. Janet had explained that she ‘didn’t have a feller around’ and needed some help. Pete agreed, and they made a time a few afternoons ahead.

‘Don’t be late, please, Pete, I know that some boys think a clock’s just for decoration,’ said Janet.

Pete felt a little put out at this. Not only was he always punctual, but he was a man not a boy.

‘You don’t have to worry. I’m different,’ he said, ‘Than most boys,’ he added recklessly.

‘I hope so,’ said Janet with a smile. ‘But you look the same as all the other boys,’ she added as she left.

Hmm, thought Pete. Maybe she calls all men boys.

Pete watched the tight denim around her bottom swivel and sway as she walked away. He could have sworn she looked at his crotch as she said he looked like all the other ‘boys’. Pete told himself he wasn’t going to be late.

He spent the rest of the afternoon dreaming up tactics about how he could get this woman going about wetting. Pete felt that the cards were in his hands, to a large extent. Provided it was true that she liked infantilising men, then Pete was at a huge advantage: he knew her game while she didn’t know his. He didn’t feel too guilty about exploiting the woman. After all, life was a game and some were just better at it than others.

Maybe he could wet a bit while he was working, he thought, and pretend not to notice. No, too obvious, he decided. He could faint in the heat, then wet…no, he decided. Something would come up, he thought. Pete wondered if Janet had a thick black bush, or whether she shaved. Lots of women did these days, he thought.

The hours rolled past until he found himself standing outside Janet’s ordinary-looking house on the far side of town. He was breathing fast as he walked towards her front door. He looked again at his watch, which he had set that morning using the radio news. He knocked on the door exactly on time.

The front door opened slowly then stopped. Pete put one hand and leant forward to peer into the gloom.

‘Hullo,’ came a soft voice from about hip height.

At the same time, his nostrils were filled with the sweet smell of bath soap and baby talc.

Pete looked down to see a sweet-faced little girl standing shyly by the door, wearing a cream coloured shortall. Her blonde hair hung in ringlets around her pink, chubby cheek and her bright red Cupid lips.

‘I’ll get mommy,’ the little girl said, and turned away from the door.

Pete could see that the child was very heavily nappied. It was all she could do to stay upright as she waddled down the dark hallway.

Pete was relieved and excited. Janet was home. Pete had dressed for the occasion in a new pair of overalls. He’d had them for a while, but had only worn them much because they were new, dark denim and with their wide straps, big bib top and prominent stitching they looked more like a giant toddler’s Oshkosh outfit than the serious khaki workwear he usually wore to work. Underneath, Pete wore his ‘secret pair’ of big, plain white women’s full cotton briefs – the closest he could get to something a little boy or girl might wear.

Then Janet appeared. She opened the door, glanced at her watch, smiled at Pete and asked him inside. Once again, she was wearing very tight denim jeans and a low-cut knitted top.

‘Your daughter has just welcomed me,’ Pete said.

‘Oh, she’s not my daughter,’ laughed Janet, ruffling the hair of the toddler who now clung to one of her legs, ‘are you, sweetheart?’

Janet turned to Pete again.

‘I do a bit of babysitting,’ she said. ‘That’s why I’ve got little Bobbi here, isn’t it, Bobbi?’

Little Bobbi looked up at Pete, and then stopped still.

Janet bent down. Pete was mesmerised by the way the soft flesh of her breasts moving almost like liquid on either side of the dark cleavage between them
‘Looks like nappy change time. I think you might be a very wet little boy, don’t you Bobby?’ Janet said. ‘Anyway, come in, Pete.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Pete said. ‘I thought Bobby was a little girl.’

Janet laughed again.

‘Oh no, he’s a little boy, but he’s a bit of a sissie, aren’t you, Bobby baby?’ she said, at which Bobby burst into tears, looking fearfully first at his Janet then at Pete.

‘Oh Bobby, I think I know what’s wrong. Let Janet just check you – down – here. Ah, I thought so. Someone’s just done poopies in their wet nappy, haven’t they? I think you’d better go and wait by the changing table, baby. Off you go sweetie-pie. Janet will come and change your nappy, ok?’

Pete watched Bobby waddle off again, wishing that someone would put him in a hugely thick nappy like that. He tried to imagine what it would feel like to wear a scaled up version of the bulky, messy nappy that was pulling Bobby’s shortalls down around his chubby little legs.

‘Pete?’

Pete blinked, and found Janet looking directly at him, with a smile on her face.

He hoped he hadn’t been caught staring at Bobby’s drooping nappy. She ushered Pete in and followed him down the hall.

‘They’re nice overalls,’ Janet said.

Pete nearly jumped out of his skin when Janet patted him on the rump.

‘Plenty of room in there,’ said Janet.

Pete worked hard through the day, carting rocks and soil, and building a new garden bed for Janet.

She and Pete had lunch together in the garden, mainly because Pete was covered in dust and dirt. Janet chatted away, asking whether Pete had a family, and whether he had a girlfriend. Pete was somewhat embarrassed to answer ‘Not really’ to both questions.

Pete couldn’t help sneaking glances at Janet’s full breasts when he could, and when Janet stood to go inside to refill his glass of lemonade, he was treated to an eye level view of her wide hips and lovely crotch as she bent over the table to reach his glass. He wished he was in a position to take her pants off and expose the wonders inside.

Janet commented on his overalls again.

‘It’s funny,’ she said, ‘Your overalls are identical to a pair one of my little clients has. You and her could be twins.’

‘Except mine are bigger,’ Pete said with a nervous laugh.

The comparison with the nappy-wearing toddler girl gave him a shivery feeling.

‘And she needs snaps up the legs and under the crotch. You don’t need those, do you?’ Janet said, laughing too.

‘No,’ replied Pete, feeling a rush of blood to his face.

‘You’re blushing!’ said Janet.

‘Well I don’t need nappies,’ said Pete, embarrassed at the break in his voice.

Jill laughed again.

Pete imagined himself going down on one knee and begging Janet to put him in a nappy. He glanced at her and changed the subject, saying he had better get back to work.

Janet stood again to clear up the table.

‘Janet, could I use your bathroom, please?’ he asked, then wondered if that sounded childish. But he wasn’t asking permission to go – he didn’t know where it was.

I’m getting paranoid about this, he told himself.

‘Sure, but could I ask you to take off your boots and, er, your overalls – they’re muddy too. You could just leave them by the back door. I won’t look, honest.’ Janet laughed. ‘The bathroom’s through the kitchen on the left.’

Pete nodded, thinking about his full cotton briefs. He had got up enough courage to buy a packet of three at the local department store, being careful to ask if he could return them if they weren’t ‘the right size for his aunt’. At least he had the white ones on today, not the pink or pale blue ones. They were so comfortable, and he liked to think they were the same as a toddler would wear. Janet wouldn’t have to see them so it didn’t matter.

Pete waited until Janet was in the kitchen and stripped to his t-shirt and undies. He dashed into the bathroom, had a long pee and hurried out again. It wasn’t until he was pulling his overalls back on that he realised that he had been too hurried ‘putting himself away’ and had dribbled into his panties, so that the front of them was quite wet. The women’s panties didn’t have the double layer in front that his jocks had. He checked out the front of his overalls and as he hoped they were dry, even when the denim was right next to the wet cotton. Relieved, in more ways than one, Pete went back outside.

‘All done?’ Janet asked as she came round the corner of the house.

‘Yes, thanks,’ Pete replied, thinking that here he was, landscaping her garden, and she was more or less asking him if he’d successfully managed going to the toilet.

Janet smiled, and said ‘Maybe you should have a nappy on.’

Pete froze, not sure if he had heard her properly.

‘Like an astronaut, you know, so that you could work through without having to strip to do your pee pees,’ she said.

Pete was not sure what to say. This was something like the conversation of his dreams, and yet he wanted to be 1000 miles away.

‘Er, they wouldn’t have a nappy my size,’ he answered, trying to laugh, knowing full well the range of adult nappies available even in supermarkets. Right down to brands, sizes and prices.

‘You’d be surprised, honey, there are plenty of big nappies on the market – even towelling ones and plastic pants,’ said Janet.

I know, thought Pete. I’ve got a few.

‘Really?’ he said. ‘What, for old people?’

‘Yes, but for young people like you too. Big baby nappies,’ said Janet as if it were a completely normal thing to say.

Pete wanted to hug her, but instead he said ‘Huh!’ and went back to work, leaving Janet standing outside the kitchen door.

A couple of hours later, Pete needed the bathroom again, badly. He blamed the big glasses of lemonade and coffee he had drunk at lunch. He looked down at his overalls and boots, which were even muddier than they had been earlier. He didn’t want to go through the whole stripping business again, so decided to hang on until he had finished work.

Half an hour later he knew he would have to go, now. He looked around the back garden, then at the kitchen window, where he saw Janet. She stopped whatever she was doing and smiled at him. There was nowhere he could discreetly pee without her being able to see him, and the front garden was fully exposed to the street. Damn, he thought, and realised that he would have to go through the house in his panties again.

Pete knocked on the back door, clenching his pelvic floor muscles against the demands of his bladder. He waited anxiously for Janet to answer the door, leaning against the wall and having to cross his legs to help resist his body’s demand to urinate.

Suddenly, the door opened.

‘Bathroom again, honey?’ Janet said. ‘I said you needed a nappy.’

‘Please,’ said Pete, beyond being polite. ‘I’ll just take my stuff off again.’

Janet looked at him for a moment, then smiled and said ‘Of course, honey,’ and turned back into the kitchen.

Pete quickly kicked off his boots, undid his bib and let his overalls drop to the ground before dashing into the bathroom.

This time he wet his panties on the way to the toilet rather than afterwards, enough to thoroughly soak the crotch and make a big, dark crescent of wetness in the front of the panties.

Pete made sure he fully emptied his bladder then pulled the panties up again. They were soaked to the point of dripping, he saw with concern. Still, there was no reason Janet would see what had happened. He tugged his t-shirt down and left the bathroom.

But instead of finding himself in the hallway next to the kitchen, he had taken a door into a laundry or utility room. He was about to leave when he saw something glimmer on the floor, a quick flash of green light, as if an emerald had suddenly caught the light.

Blinking in the dim light, he saw it was a pile of clothing, surrounded by some chalk lines. He looked more closely and saw that the lines made a sort of star shape, with the clothing piled in the centre, as if someone had just let them fall off themselves where they stood. At each corner of the chalk star was a small metal container, which held wax and an extinguished candle wick. Pete picked up the plaid shirt on top of the pile of clothes. At first he thought the shirt had fallen apart in his hands when he realised that it had been cut apart. Heaped over a pair of work boots underneath was a pair of jeans and a pair of red underpants. Both the jeans and the underpants were in several pieces. Pete shivered. There was a wallet in a pocket of the jeans.

Pete picked up the wallet and opened it. Among the usual cash and credit cards were some business cards. Pete took one out. “Robert Smith” it read. “Builder, Carpenter and Joiner”.

Pete looked around the room. There was a woman’s bicycle, some old chairs, a beach umbrella, a washing machine and dryer, lots of boxes and more of the typical contents of such a room. There was also a waist high, wide bench covered in padded plastic. It looked like a weight lifting bench, maybe, thought Pete, but he couldn’t see any weights around. All that was on the bench was a plastic squeeze bottle of baby talc.

Finding the clothes and the wallet was vaguely creepy, Pete thought. He put the card in his pocket, and returned to the bathroom.

He managed to get back to his clothes, and had just got back outside when Janet came through the door. Pete hoped she hadn’t seen his big feminine panties, let alone noticed how wet they were.

No such luck.

‘It’s good to see boys wearing sensible underclothes,’ Janet said.

‘Oh,’ said Pete. ‘They’re…they’re sports briefs, a new sort, they’re comfortable,’ he said hurriedly.

Pete quickly pulled up his overalls.

‘I see,’ said Janet. ‘Well, Pete, it’s after 3 o’clock,’ she went on. ‘If you want to finish a bit early, I can run your overalls through the wash. I have a very good heavy wash program that does wonders for denim. I feel a bit guilty – after all it’s my mud.’

‘No. it’s ok, thanks anyway,’ Pete said. ‘I want to finish that walling today anyway. I’d better get back to it,’ he added, giving Janet a quick smile and heading back to the garden.

He was still wondering about what he had seen in the laundry.

Half an hour later, Pete stopped for a break. He took out his mobile phone, and the carpenter’s card he had taken from the wallet in the laundry. He rang the number.

After a few rings, there was a buzz and a click. A voice said:

‘You have rung the number of Robert Smith, builder, carpenter and joiner. Mr Smith advises that he has permanently closed his building business in order to pursue a new lifestyle elsewhere. He apologises for any inconvenience and refers you to the yellow pages or local trade directories for professional building trades. Thank you.’

Pete stared at his phone. He knew the voice. It was Janet’s.

Janet stood in the centre of her kitchen, looking at the battered mobile phone in her hand. She recognised the incoming caller ID as Pete the landscape contractor, now working in her garden. She thought for a moment, watching Pete through the window. Then she went into the laundry and stared at the pile of clothing in the centre of the pentangle on the floor. Sure enough, the builder’s wallet was sticking half way out of the crumpled jeans. She bent down, picked up the wallet and opened it. Half a dozen business cards were jammed in front of the collection of plastic cards.

Janet picked up the clothing and packed it all into an empty cardboard box, and tucked the boots under her old bicycle. She then left the room and went to the spare bedroom. Bobby was still asleep in the crib, sucking contentedly on his pacifier.

Next she went to the outside door near the kitchen, and opened it.

‘Pete!’ she called. ‘Could you come and help me move something heavy please?’

Pete looked up, nodded and walked towards her.

‘It’s through here,’ Janet said. 'I’ll show you. It’s just too much for me. And sorry to ask, but could you take off your overalls and boots again?

Pete looked hesitant, thinking of his wet panties again.

‘It’s ok, I’ve seen plenty of girls and boys in their panties before,’ said Janet, looking at Pete.

Once again, Pete stripped, and tried to make sure that he stayed behind Janet. They went through the kitchen, and through a door into the garage. There, Janet showed Pete a large cardboard box. Pete sidled around the big box and positioned himself to lift it.

‘Here it is,’ Janet said. ‘It needs to go back through that door behind you.’

‘Sure,’ Pete said.

He was still wondering about Janet’s phrase ‘plenty of little girls and boys in their panties before’. It seemed such an odd thing to say. 'Why say ‘little girls’ first, or at all? Maybe it was because she was thinking of her babysitting work. Then there was Robert the builder. That was weird. Why were the builder’s clothes and wallet in Janet’s laundry and why were the clothes cut up? Was the builder holed up somewhere here, maybe playing nappy games with Janet, he thought as his imagination took flight. No, the answer was probably much more down to earth. Maybe he was her brother. Or maybe she was his mistress…

‘Pete, are you ready?’ said Janet.

‘Yes,’ said Pete.

‘Ok,’ said Janet. ‘After three. One, two, three, lift!’

Pete took the weight. It was quite heavy, but Janet seemed ok with her half. Pete looked across the top of the box at her. She smiled at him.

‘Just back through the door straight behind you,’ she said. ‘Sorry about the weight. It didn’t make you wet your pants, did it?’

Pete was stunned at the question, although Janet didn’t change the smiling expression with which she asked it.

‘No,’ answered Pete.

What else could he say?

Pete pushed the door open and backed into a dark room. He took a couple of steps back.

‘Stop right there please Pete,’ said Janet.

Pete felt rather than saw a flash of greenish light in the room, as if a photographer had fired a weak green flash somewhere behind Janet’s head.

‘Down,’ said Janet.

Pete had the odd impression that the green light had actually come from Janet’s eyes, which seemed to be suddenly transitioning from glowing green to their normal colour. It was very strange, but beautiful at the same time. In fact, Janet did look beautiful, very beautiful. He stopped and lowered the box.

Janet was still smiling at him. Pete watched in awe as the beautiful woman picked the box by herself and put it aside.

Again Pete was stunned. He was about to say something when Janet said ‘Quiet please, and don’t move.’

Pete tried to be as quiet and still as possible. It wasn’t hard. He even held his breath.

Janet now bent down and did something around Pete’s legs. Pete tried to look down, but it was very hard to move his eyes. He caught sight of the points of a chalk star in the gloom. He realised that he was in the laundry where he had found the carpenter’s clothes, and that he was in the centre of the chalk star he had seen there. Janet must have cleared the clothes away. Now she was arranging the little metal candle cups again. She lit them and the soft light filled the room.

Pete was going to say something but remembered what he had been asked.

Now he felt Janet’s fingers on his thighs and bottom. Pete was surprised but kept to his instructions and didn’t move.

‘I see you’re wearing girl’s panties,’ Janet said.

Pete remained mute. Oh well, he thought. There was nothing he could do about it now. He felt Janet’s thin fingers on the wet gusset between his legs, then on the damp, stretched cotton over his penis and balls.

‘I thought you said you didn’t need nappies,’ Janet said. ‘But you’ve obviously wet your panties.’

Pete stood as still and mute as a statue.

‘Let’s have a good look at you, Pete,’ said Janet.

In the gloom, Pete heard fabric being slashed then felt cool air across his skin. He realised he was naked.

Janet put her hand on Pete’s penis.

‘I thought this would be sticking out all stiff, but then you’re not moving, are you petal?’ Janet said. ‘Can you make it stick out please?’

Pete complied immediately.

Janet took his penis in her fingers and lightly pushed. Pete felt himself swivelling around as if his feet were mounted on a turntable. He had never felt so strange.

‘It’s a bit unfair only you being naked, isn’t it?’ Janet asked. ‘I’ll take my clothes off too. You can watch if you like.’

Pete blinked and suddenly became aware of Janet standing in front of him. His eyes were dry and he blinked again, watching Janet as she slid down the zip of her jeans. He looked her up and down, still not moving his body but feeling pleased that she had told him he could watch, which he knew meant moving his eyes.

‘You like my tummy and crotch, don’t you?’ Janet asked, grinning at Pete. ‘I’ve seen you looking at me down there. Well you can look as much as you like, now. Down goes the zip,’ she said, sliding down the zipper to reveal a bulging triangle of underwear. Pete could see that she had pantyhose over what looked like a white lace-patterned control brief.

Pete neither spoke nor moved.

‘Now, off with my jeans,’ said Janet, tugging her jeans over her wide hips and, kicking off her shoes, pulling them down over her panty-hosed feet.

‘There we are,’ she said. ‘I’d better even up the top.’

Janet unbuttoned her blouse and let it drop, revealing very large breasts supported in a big white bra which Pete recognised from baby catalogues as a nursing bra. She performed a series of unhooking moves and tossed the bra to the floor. Her breasts now hung, full and round, halfway down her chest.

‘What do you think, Pete? A real hour-glass. I’m lactating, too. I’ve been breast-feeding Bobby. What do you think of that?’ she said.

Pete thought it was wonderful, but didn’t move or make a sound.

Janet stood directly in front of Pete, and leaning back, spread her legs a little to show Pete the crotch of her panties.

Suddenly, Pete was aware of Janet’s fingers wiping the slippery droplets from the end of his penis and sliding her fingers along the shaft.

‘It’s not a very big willy, is it?’ she asked.

‘Did you know that if girls were made with boys equipment, it would be full sized, not small like yours?’ she asked Pete, who merely blinked.

‘See?’ she asked, looking at Pete.

There was another flash of greenish light in the room.

Janet took Pete’s hand and guided it back to her panties. If Pete hadn’t been trying to stand so still, he probably would have retracted it suddenly.

Pete’s fingers felt a huge soft bulge where before there had been a low, rounded rise.

‘Go on, have a little explore,’ said Janet. ‘Treat it as a new experience that you find you really, really like.’

Pete felt an incredible thrill run through his body as he felt the big mass of flesh distorting the front of Janet’s control briefs. He could feel, as well as soft flesh, two large, resilient forms like very large eggs. Between these, or above them, it was hard to tell, was a thick, fleshy cylinder like a stick of salami. It was about three inches thick and just under a foot long.

‘That’s really uncomfortable,’ said Janet. ‘Could you use both hands and take it out of my panties please honey?’

Pete complied immediately. It took him a little while to unpack the soft mass. After some manipulation, he had everything out, hanging over the top of Janet’s panties.

‘I’ll just take these down,’ said Janet.

Gently she pulled Pete’s hands away and stood in front of him with her legs slightly apart. The gigantic penis hung in front of Pete. He didn’t think it was unusual. It was Janet’s penis. There couldn’t be anything wrong with that. He thought again how beautiful she was.

‘Kneel please, honey,’ Janet told Pete.

Silently, Pete knelt.

‘OK, honey, now you can keep exploring. First, I want you to tell me your favourite flavour of fruit. Can you tell me that?’ Janet asked.

‘Raspberry,’ Pete answered promptly.

‘Good,’ said Janet. ‘Now, have a little taste.’

Pete couldn’t wait. He loved raspberry. Ignoring another greenish flash, and with Janet guiding his fingers, he took the big cylinder in his hands and tentatively licked the end. Janet was right. It tasted better than the freshest, ripest raspberries he had ever tasted. Janet arched her back and as Pete was about to have another lick when she gave a sudden push and the whole big, fleshy tube slid into Pete’s mouth. He had to ‘open wide’ like at the dentist, and had to breathe through his nose. Still, it tasted so wonderful, he couldn’t stop himself from trying to swallow the whole thing.

Suddenly, the room was flooded with light. Pete could see with one eye the open door to the bathroom. Bobby stood in the doorway. He seemed to be struggling to say something. Finally he got it out.

‘No!’ he squeaked in his infant’s voice. ‘No! No! No! W…W…WITCH!’

Janet stared at the little figure in the door, now exhausted, his mouth hanging open and his soaked nappy slipping silently to the floor, where it landed with a soft ‘plop’.

Janet pulled away from Pete, leaving him open-mouthed as well, but with a mixture of drool and lovely, thick raspberry juice streaming down his chin and neck.

A much brighter green flash now suffused the room, and Janet walked over to the doorway. She picked up the large vinyl-bodied doll lying there.

‘I don’t know how this got there,’ she said, picking up the doll.

Pete looked around as much as he could for Bobby. He was sure he had just seen him and heard him. He tried to remember what Bobby had said. It had sounded important.

‘Do you like Betsy Wetsy?’ Janet asked Pete.

Janet held up the doll and gave it a squeeze.

‘No!’ the doll squealed in a small, metallic voice. If he weren’t trying to be still and quiet again, Pete would have laughed at the ridiculous expression of surprise in the almost real-looking doll face, with its big round blue eyes, cartoonish painted-on eyelashes and the fixed, perfectly circular ‘O’ in the middle of its bright red Cupid lips.

As Janet spoke, the big hanging tube and the full, soft bag of flesh below her chubby belly folded and shrank and disappeared into her body, leaving only a thick, bushy triangle of curly black hair.

She picked up the doll and took it to a sink at one side of the room, where she held its face under a tap. Pete heard the dolly voice squeak ‘No!’ again as the tap ran.

‘Here you are, sweetie, now she’s filled right up.’ Janet said, handing the doll to Pete. ‘It’s ok, baby, you can have a play,’ she added.

The doll immediately released a stream of water, all over Pete and the floor. The squirting water seemed never ending, continuing as Pete in silent surprise gave the doll back to Janet. As she took it from him, the Betsy Wetsy doll continued to pour out its reservoir of water, still with the expression of exaggerated surprise on its vinyl face.

‘I’ll fill Betsy Wetsy right up full up so the next little girl who wants to play with her can make her wet. She needs her little nappy on too,’ said Janet.

Pete held the doll in his hands. It really was big, about the size of a real baby. The nylon hair was in two untidy plaits, and the doll was naked except for a little t-shirt with ‘Betsy-Wetsy’ printed on it in a blue, wet-look font featuring drips and puddles. Not that it was indecent. It was flat-chested under the t-shirt and its dolly groin was smooth vinyl with only a little flush nozzle in the middle, with ‘Betsy Wetsy Wetting Doll’ in raised capital letters written around the little nozzle, similar to the writing ‘Fill Me Here & Squeeze’ written around the moulded cupid lips of the permanently surprised open mouth. Every time he moved the doll, Pete could hear water sloshing around inside it.

At Janet’s suggestion, Pete gave the doll a squeeze. This time, as well as squeaking its frightened little ‘No!’ it let out another fountain pof water from between its legs.

Janet opened a small cardboard box and took out an infant-sized nappy. Squatting down next to Pete, she said she knew how much he would like to put Betsy’s nappy on her.

She was right, Pete was overjoyed. With Janet’s help, he managed to get Betsy’s nappy on, with only a few squeaks of ‘No!’ from Betsy as she was squeezed during the nappying operation. Janet said she was tired of the squeak that sounded like ‘No!’ all the time, and after Betsy had her nappy on, Janet opened her back and did something to her to fix her voice. Now when you squeezed her, as well as wetting, naturally enough, she said ‘Hullo, my name is Betsy Wetsy and I wet my nappy.’

Pete took back the filled doll, and gave her a squeeze. Her surprised expression seemed almost more extreme, almost as if she were shocked, and when Janet fixed her squeak she seemed to have repaired her tears as well, so now she was a ‘Betsy Wetsy Wetting & Crying Doll’. To prove it, Pete gave Betsy a squeeze, and after saying in its quavering little voice: ‘Hullo, my name is Betsy Wetsy and I wet my nappy,’ it started crying as well as peeing and it didn’t stop until its whole reservoir was empty.

There was another green flash.

Pete was thinking about Betsy as he had lunch with Janet. His head was a bit fuzzy, and he tried to remember if he had a doll like that. He wondered if Janet would know.

Janet was coming back from the kitchen with Pete’s cup refilled with orange juice.

‘You can go back to the garden after you finish your drink, sweetiepie,’ said Janet, giving Pete a kiss on the top of the head.

‘Thank you,’ said Pete and jumped down from the chair. He hurried out to the garden to resume his work.

Pete sat down next to the pile of sand he was moving, and picked up his spade. His new nappy was still soft and dry, and very comfortable to sit on. It was the best thing about having his nappy changed.

There was Betsy, he thought, spotting her sitting between the two little upside-down sad-bucket towers he had made her for a house. He remembered now. He picked her up and gave her a squeeze. She said her little piece, then, with her usual expression of shocked surprise, she started crying and wetting her nappy. Pete giggled and propped her up in the sand again, where she sat trickling dark water onto the sand. Janet said Betsy looked so surprised because she was forgetful, and never remembered she was Betsy Wetsy or that she wet her nappy until she heard her own voice saying that was who she was. That was why she always started crying, said Janet.

That news had made Pete, who took Janet’s comments quite seriously, think hard. Who did Betsy she think she was every time before she found out she was Betsy Wetsy, he had asked Janet.

Janet had laughed.

‘Oh, she thinks she’s Bob the Builder,’ Janet had said.

It was true, though, Pete had found out. He knew Bob the Builder from TV.

Pete had taken Betsy by her plastic shoulders, looked straight into her ridiculous round eyes, and asked her very carefully and slowly: ‘Did you used to be Bob the Builder?’

Pete was sure Betsy’s face looked even more surprised than usual, and that she started crying without even being squeezed. When he did squeeze her to start her wetting, Betsy went all funny. She started saying ‘W…w…wi…wi…which’ before she did her little singsong squeak of ‘My name is Betsy Wetsy and I wet my panties’. She didn’t say which what she was talking about.

Poor silly Betsy, thought Pete. To make her feel better, Pete propped her up on a little sandhill and facing her, Pete grabbed the front of his dress and lifted the dress and his petticoats underneath.

‘See Betsy,’ he said, ‘You’re not the only little girl who has to wear a nappy.’

‘Peta, for heaven’s sake, look at you!’ Janet shouted from the kitchen door. ‘What are you doing in that sandpit in your party dress! Get out at once!’

Peta stopped playing immediately, and as sometimes happened when she was guiltily surprised, she flooded her nappy.

He knew what would happen next.

Janet strode into the garden and took Peta roughly by one arm and dragged her towards the house. Meanwhile, Peta just had time to grab poor crying Betsy Wetsy, in her own soaked nappy, her little mechanical voicebox squeaking ‘witch!…witch!…witch!…’ as she bounced along the ground behind Peta.

Janet stripped Peta of her soaked nappy and sand-covered dress and petticoats, picked her up and plopped her in the big hot bath. Peta screwed her eyes up tight while Janet washed the dirt off her. The only gentle part of the whole procedure was when Janet washed the little pink mound between Peta’s legs.

After her bath, Janet took Peta to the laundry to find a fresh towel. She stood Peta in the middle of the room and told her to stand very still while she found a towel. Peta saw the flash of a green firecracker someone let off, and waited for the bang but there wasn’t one.

‘That’s it, thanks Pete,’ said Janet.

Pete stood up. The box had been quite heavy, and he wiped his forehead with one hand. His main problem was to hide his still-wet women’s panties from his employer, Janet.

It was too late. With his muddy boots and overalls outside the kitchen door, Pete had nowhere to go as Janet walked around behind him.

So here it is, thought Pete, the moment I’ve been wanting, letting this woman know I wet my pants, if nothing else, has arrived, and I’m scared out of my wits. There’s no way she can miss what I’m wearing.

‘Pete,’ said Janet, ‘I don’t want to be personal, but are those girl’s panties you’re wearing?’

Pete looked at Janet and tried to speak. He gave up and simply nodded.

‘And am I right in thinking you’ve wet your panties, Peter?’ Janet asked.

Pete nodded, staring at the floor.

‘You must have known I’d find out,’ said Janet.

Pete nodded again.

‘Did you think I’d understand?’ Janet continued.

Again, Pete nodded.

‘You really are all by yourself in the big world, aren’t you baby?’ Janet said, stroking Pete’s blonde hair. ‘Are you wetting again?’ she asked softly as the unmistakeable sound of liquid splashing onto the floor seemed to resonate around the dim room.

Pete’s head was swimming. He was frightened, and looked around the room for something consoling. He saw an old Betsy Wetsy doll on a box, staring at him with mock horror.

Pete was crying now.

‘Shh,’ said Janet. ‘I think I can help you.’

Pete cheered up a lot after a bath. It was a lovely big bath, like one he remembered being in when he was a child.

Janet helped him wash, even his private parts. She let her soft breasts fall against him as she leaned over the bath, and other times her crotch was almost on Pete’s face as she leaned over to adjust the taps. Pete started playing with himself under cover of the soaps suds until she moved his hand away and called him a naughty baby.

Pete felt he was in heaven.

At last, he was out of the bath. Janet said she had had a friend with a similar wetting problem, and had something for Pete to wear.

Janet produced a large disposable nappy. She made Pete lie back on her bed as she spread talc around his groin then taped the bulky garment around him.

Pete sat in her living room, wearing only his nappy and one of Janet’s t-shirts while Janet washed Pete’s denim overalls.

Pete had wet again and been changed again before his overalls were washed and dry.

Because the denim was new, it had shrunk a considerable amount, and it was quite a job for Janet to adjust the overalls over the bulky nappy so that Pete could walk.

‘You’re quite welcome to crawl as long as you’re here,’ said Janet jokingly as they decided that the fit was as good as they were going to get, ‘But in public, I think walking would be best.’

‘I’d get some looser clothes, though, for wearing over your nappy. You look like a girl in those overalls with it all tight over your nappy down there,’ she said.

Pete looked down at his perfectly smooth, feminine crotch.

Janet laughed.

‘With your hair up like that, all you need is a nice pair of boobies and you could be Peta with an ‘a’ instead of Peter,’ Janet said, untying the ribbon that had held Pete’s hair up in a high ponytail while he was in the bath.

Pete wasn’t sure what to say, so he said goodbye to Janet, and set off with a slight waddle to his car

A moment later, Janet called after him.

‘I’ve had a cancellation for the little girl I was babysitting tomorrow,’ she said. ‘So if you’d like to come over and relax, I’d be very happy to look after you for the day, honeybunch.’

Pete turned, waddled back and gave Janet a hug,

‘Thank you, I will,’ he said.

Janet looked at him and smiled. Pete hadn’t noticed before what a strange green her eyes were.