(Finished) Matching Mary -- (Author) babyann

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 19, 2021 at 11:10 AM
Content: The following story is autobiographical, until the later chapters, which depict my dreams, and the way I wished things would have turned out. I need to warn people from the beginning that it may have a few triggers for different people. Please, feel free to comment on my writing style, which I know needs to improve, but there isn’t much point commenting on the scenes, at least to start with, as they are just history! I have changed the names of the other people involved as I don’t have their permission to include them. This has been really difficult to write at times, and really wonderful at other times. One of the few benefits of this pandemic is it has given me the time and space to do so. I have had to go back to some pretty dark corners and dark times in my life. Most of the writing has been done with lots of tears and a snotty nose, but the tears (and snot) were also some happy tears (and snot) as I remembered some precious tender moments. But I could not have done this without the encouragement and support of my Mommy. So it is dedicated to Her - my life xx

Prologue

I started babysitting aged 16, and I continued doing it for the next 4 years or so. I loved babysitting for so many different reasons. My biological mother was an alcoholic, an ugly alcoholic. She was so ugly, when drunk, that all the other members of the family soon realised that life was easier when they were not in her company. My biological father must have been the first to work this out as he left home soon after I was born, so that I have no memory of him. My older brothers had also already left, but for University, and work, and making their own lives well away from the family home. I was the “late little lamb” as they nicely call it in this country, or the “mistake” as my mother vindictively called me. What either description meant that I arrived much, much later than any other children. This meant I was raised as a mostly only, and in my opinion at least, an unwanted, child. This was further complicated by the fact I was born with a disability; I have a fairly mild form of CP (Cerebral Palsy). Fortunately for me it is mild, but it has meant that I developed physically slowly, and I remain not very coordinated, physically. It did mean a few painful operations as a child, and missing quite a bit of school. So I found myself occupying a strange place in my classroom; I remained the smallest, whilst being one of the oldest, as I had ended up repeating some years. But this, added to my natural ineptness at any sport, left me unpopular at school too. I can’t remember how I started babysitting, but I suddenly found an escape! Somewhere where I was not judged, surrounded by little people, who were all told to be nice to me. Even the adults were nice to me, as I was doing them a big favour. In fact, I would have happily done the job for free, some nights I would have paid them, just to escape the nasty environment at home. I certainly had no friend’s houses I could go to. I must be about the only person who has never experienced a sleepover. So I became a lonely dreamer, my dreams were safe places.

Babysitting also represented other benefits; I had already discovered that I had a fascination with diapers (nappies) following a hospital visit, and indeed had spent years fashioning my own versions to wear out of towels and bin bags. But babysitting gave me a new source of the real articles, and I would often steal one, which would last me weeks at home sleeping each night with it more or less attached between my legs, and this really helped the dreams. Babysitting also allowed me to be a little person. I had little friends and little toys, and we would just play together, or watch cartoons together. We would make cushion castles together and play all the games that I had never been able to play in the desert landscape that was my own home. Also, none of my little friends were mean or nasty to me, none of them teased me, or shouted at me, if I knocked something over or spilled something. In fact, they all loved me, and it was a two way thing, I loved them and what I was able to do with them so, so much. I soon became a popular babysitter in the area, if I wasn’t already babysitting then I was always free, as I had no sleepovers or movie nights with friends of my own to go to. Many of the girls in my class at school had boyfriends, and if you were to believe half the stories that they told were becoming very sexually active, but I was just beginning to realise that I had no interest in boys, it wasn’t a shock, as I seemed to have little in common with anyone else in the classroom, but much more in common with the little people. My sexual release, I only later realised, came when I was on my own, with a baby nappy between my legs and a pacifier in my mouth. I had been told all my life I was weird and different, so no shock that I was weird in this area too. It was years before I even learned of the letters ABDL, or that there were indeed other people in the World like me. I was just that weird little clunky girl, who didn’t walk so well, was really quiet, but was a popular babysitter. As far as I knew there could not have been anyone else as perverted as I was; wanting to be treated as a baby! I was quite alone in my perversion too, in fact possibly had not even admitted all this to myself at this stage, as the perversion seemed so awful and embarrassing to me at the time.

So that gives you some background to this story. All this is true, and it has been difficult to write. But if you really want to benefit from the following chapters I need you in my head. Wait, there is no room in there, but I really need you to understand the younger me. I was, even at that stage, quite unhappy, and looking back now, clearly the anorexia, and self-harm which ended up dogging me for years (and the effects of which I am still having to deal with to this day) were taking root. I craved love and attention, and didn’t much care where that came from (which also would present me with problems, and even a criminal record later on).

But everything changed when Mrs Watson approached me to look after her special needs daughter, Mary.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 19, 2021 at 3:19 PM
Content: Chapter 1 Meeting Mary and her Mommy

“Hi, is that Ann?” the friendly female voice enquired out of the telephone.

“Yes...hello...” I cautiously replied, immediately suspecting this could be a prank call again from some of the mean girls at school, designed to humiliate me.

“Hi, my name is Suzanne Watson, Cherie du Plessis gave me your number, and recommended you as an excellent babysitter. I really need an excellent babysitter, would you mind calling by, if you are interested and we could have a chat about what is involved? This might be a little bit more complicated than the work that you do for Mrs du Plessis, but I only have the one child, Mary, unlike the two terrors that Mrs du Plessis has”

I was immediately defensive of my charges, “Mrs du Plessis’s boys are not terrors but they are both quite busy boys. Yes, I would love to meet you and Mary, when can I come around, and when would you like me to babysit?”

“If you are free now, there is no time like the present, but I am not planning a night out just yet, as the situation is a bit more complicated, but do come and I can explain, and then you can decide if you want to take us on.”

She gave me her address and both said we were looking forward to meeting each other. Her words intrigued me, but also sounded a little like a challenge, why would I not want to babysit there? Why would she be looking for a babysitter, when she is not planning a night out? Nothing made much sense, but anything was better than the horrible atmosphere at home; my mother had already screamed at me for making too much noise, as I came in from school, but that probably had much more to do with her hangover from last night rather than my own shuffling footsteps.

I looked down at what I was wearing; still in school uniform, the green pinafore dress had seen better days, there were a couple of frays forming at the hem, and a faint stain still where some girls had squirted water at me. The front bib only emphasised my flat chest, as my daily prayers for boobies had yet to be answered. Still, this would do, as I would not have to show how old and uncool my own clothing was, and they were even more threadbare. Checking the mirror, I decided that my pony tail would do, even though some mousy hairs had escaped and the green ribbon was dangling lanky towards my neck.

“I am off out to see a new lady about babysitting, I have no idea when I will be back!” I shouted as I slammed the door hard behind me. I wasn’t waiting for a reply, but hoped the crash of the door would disturb her hangover a little more. There was a muffled response from somewhere in the house, but it was likely either an expletive or a request to collect more supplies for her to drink or smoke on my way back. There was no love between us, but I still did not want to buy the poisons that were slowly killing her, even back then.

I checked the street, pulling up my white socks, which had already completed their constant journey down to my scuffed brown school shoes. It was all clear, no children to taunt my stumbling walk and no adults to do that apologetic smile at the little deformed kid who lived with the drunk. I crossed my fingers and hoped that the streets would stay clear all the way to Mrs Watson’s house. They turned out to be so, but I had to approach each intersection with trepidation and caution. I was beginning to think that crossing your fingers and wishing hard enough was a real technique with clear results by the time I made it to Mrs Watson’s front door.

Strange, there were no toys evident in the well kept garden. Most of the houses I babysat at had bicycles littering driveways, climbing frames and ropes in the gardens. Oh well, I rubbed my shoes against the back of my legs hoping the socks would remove at least the top layer of dust, I also made an effort to stand up straight and not slump to one side which my disability made me do sometimes. I checked the cleanliness of my thoroughly bitten nails, although there would have been no chance to clean them at this late stage. At least it hadn’t been too much effort to get here so none of my muscles were doing that silly twitching that they sometimes did when I got tired. I stretched up to reach the doorbell, once again wishing I would start to grow one day soon, it was getting really, really boring being so short. The door was suddenly opened, by what appeared to be a model straight out of a magazine, long dark wavy hair framed a perfectly tanned face. A perfectly manicured hand was offered,

“Hi, you must be Ann, I am Suzanne” she whispered. My own tiny hand was firmly squeezed, as I whispered back some form of greeting in response.

“Mary is having a little nap” she explained still in a whisper, “but that means we will not be disturbed while we have a little chat, OK?”

Her arm went around my shoulder and I was guided through what seemed to be an incredibly neat and tidy show home; still no toys to trip over, and even in the kitchen there was not the usual evidence of attempts at artwork to brighten up the fridge door. I had become quite the detective, as years and years of being the target of different mean pranks and jokes led me to become suspicious of many things.

I was given the typical hard decision of choosing tea, and pretending to be grown up, or a cool drink, which I really wanted. I had already decided that I wanted to give out the pretence of being grown up and sophisticated, so I surprised even myself when I heard my voice,

“A cool drink would be very nice, thank you, Mrs Watson”.

I was still admonishing myself, while taking in the perfect kitchen when Mrs Watson returned with a glass, chinking with ice, a clear sign of heightened sophistication. I watched her glide across the floor, and admired the way the blouse and skirt hung off her tall slim frame as she finished making herself a cup of tea. Tea in a cup AND saucer no less, and not the typical mug! I would have to be on my guard, as clearly this was the centre of sophistication.

“We will hear when Mary wakes up” said Mrs Watson as she tapped a baby alarm, “but she will not hear us from here, so we can speak freely. Now, tell me about yourself, how old are you, 13? 14?”

I was so offended, obviously she would normally be polite and try to make the mistake as being older than you really were, not so much younger.

“No, I am 17 and will turn 18 next month” I replied defensively, feeling like a toddler who always try to round their ages up.

“Oh, I am sorry dear!” Mrs Watson immediately shot back, “it’s just you are so lucky to have such a pretty petite frame! Believe me in years to come being tall and lanky is not all it is cracked up to be”.

I decided the apology wasn’t quite good enough, and I was still smarting of being accused of being 13.

“Actually, I am short due to a disability.” I admonished her, defensively.

Mrs Watson’s hand shot across the table taking my hand in hers and her eyes showed real remorse,

“I am so sorry, I really did not mean to be so rude and inconsiderate. Please forgive me?”

Of course I had to forgive this beautiful lady, as she squeezed my hand.

“It’s fine, lots of people make that mistake” I explained. Trying to brush it all off.

“No it is absolutely not fine. And I should not make that sort of mistake.” She fell silent for a moment, and glanced at the baby alarm “But that might actually make the next bit easier. You see Mary also has a disability. Mary didn’t form properly in the womb, and she has a number of mental and physical challenges. For these reasons she needs very carefully looking after. In fact, I have never trusted her in the hands of anyone else, outside of hospital before. Will this be a problem for you? Please be honest with me, and I shall in no way be offended if you feel that you are not up for this?”,

Mrs Watson appeared to be challenging me again, clearly she had never met a girl with my resolve before.

“I am sure I will be fine with Mary, I have looked after little babies before, who needed close supervision, not all of the children I look after are as big as the du Plessis boys”

“I know,” replied Mrs Watson,

“I am afraid I shall have to ask for your forgiveness again, as I must admit I have asked several mothers about you, and they all say that you are a most wonderful babysitter and all their children absolutely adore you!”

I blushed with pride to hear such glowing reports, before Mrs Watson continued

“but Mary will be quite a unique challenge for you. What I would like to propose is that you come and spend some time here with us, for which I will of course pay you for, while Mary can get used to you and you can decide if you still want to be our babysitter, does that sound OK with you?”

It was an easy question, did I want to get paid for doing nothing, but coming to her house?

“that is fine”. I responded.

“Thank you,” she replied earnestly, “this is really a big step for me, and Mary. You see because of Mary’s condition, she has not learned to socialise either very well, as the only time we get to see other children is when we go to the hospital for her different treatments”

“Oh, I know all about that sort of thing,” I felt I needed to prove my worth to Mrs Watson, “you see, my own Cerebral Palsy meant that I have had to have different treatments and I have even had 4 different operations already, and am due to have another next year. So I seem to have something in common with Mary already! I can come over straight after school on most days, and all the day on Saturdays and Sundays. I do have some babysitting to do on Friday night, at the moment, but otherwise I can be here whenever you want me” I offered.

“Oh, I have no doubt you could be a wonderful big sister and role model for Mary, you are such a polite l... girl” she corrected herself. But I was beyond caring by now. Clearly I was the perfect babysitter for Mrs Watson, and she was already sold on my abilities. Plus I was going to have another place to escape to. It was win win.

“But I don’t want to steal you away from your friends, or anything like that. While we wait for Mary to wake up, why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

Of course there was very little more to say about me, but over the course of the next 20 minutes or so I did find out a lot about Mrs Watson. No wonder she looked like a model, she had actually been an air hostess, and Mary was the result of a fling with a pilot. He was no longer around, but had shot back to his wife as soon as he discovered that Mrs Watson had fallen pregnant, but at least he owned up to his responsibilities, hence the nice house, and he was covering Mary’s medical costs. I could have listened to her talk all afternoon, and it was clear she was quite a lonely person too, so I had already resolved to spend as much time as I could in her company, and would come here from school every day.

But the baby alarm disturbed our conversation, as we heard a small voice calling from it. Mrs Watson jumped up, saying

“let me go and get Mary, you just sit there on the sofa and let me bring her too you, as she can be very shy around strangers, but don’t worry, I am sure she will grow to love you like all the other kids”.

Mrs Watson came back with a pale thin child on her hip. The child was clutching a furry teddy bear, and eyeing me up suspiciously with large blue, but still bleary, eyes. The pacifier rocked back and forth in her mouth.

“Here is my Mary, Ann” proudly announced Mrs Watson sitting on the couch next to me, “Ann, this is Mary, say hello”

Mrs Watson went to take the pacifier out, but Mary moved her head away burying her face into her shoulder.

“But who is this?” I gently asked tugging at her Teddy bear, that at least got a reaction as Mary turned her head to face me, but she just shook her head when I repeated the question. Mrs Watson tried to encourage her to speak, while I tickled her foot which was quickly withdrawn, I waited for it to appear again, and got the same reaction as I tickled the sole. But this time I got a little giggle from behind the pacifier. This game continued for a while, each time getting a bigger reaction, finally she offered me her teddy bear, which I took gently and cuddled him in my arms.

“Now, you are honoured, Ann, as she doesn’t ever give that Teddy to anyone!” Mrs Watson encouraged. I gave the Teddy back and this continued for a while until finally Mary held her own arm out but shook her head as I tried to return her toy.

“Do you want to go to Ann?” her mother questioned, sounding quite surprised. With that she passed her over to me she was surprisingly light and felt quite fragile as I took hold and sat her on my own lap. Of course no sooner than I had done that but she signaled she wanted to go back to her mother. So we passed her back and forth a couple of times, before she settled on my lap, her diapered bottom resting on my lap. She then looked suspiciously, eyeing me up while Mrs Watson continued to talk. Suddenly Mary threw her arms around me, and gave me a weak hug, and I responded by gently hugging her back. Mrs Watson immediately stopped speaking.

“She has never done that with anyone before!” she announced, to which Ann immediately repeated it, almost to prove it was not a mistake. This caused us all to laugh including Mary, who soon realised she could get good reactions by hugging me. She was so sweet.

“Here, let me take her off you and I will show you around the house” Mrs Watson offered.

“no, it is fine, I am sure I can manage, I promise I will not drop her, but I also need to check that I can”.

Mrs Watson looked uncertain and stood close by, ready to catch us both if I fell. My own disability does leave me small, and I am clumsy with it and prone to falling over, but as long as I moved slowly, and carefully, I wanted to show Mrs Watson that I was capable. I stood up, and put a supporting hand under the diapered bottom to hold her. We walked slowly around her house, into the various rooms and outside into the garden. Mrs Watson finally relaxed as she saw Mary was not only safe in my arms, but happy too. At one stage Mrs Watson had to retrieve Mary’s arm as she had slid it under the bib on the front of my school uniform.

“Mary, that is not appropriate behaviour” but I didn’t mind.

Finally Mrs Watson lifted Mary’s little skirt up to check her diaper,

“Oh, Mary! You are quite wet, you really should have said something” said Mrs Watson with feigned exasperation, although I had felt the little diaper slowly filling with warm pee, and had decided not to mention anything.

“Come one, let’s get you changed”

“No!” Mary cheekily replied and instead threw her arms tighter around me, “Ann must change me”

We decided it would be easier if we stayed as we were and I walked slowly with Mrs Watson back to Mary’s room. I could feel Mary pulling my ponytail in her hands. And I would shake my head causing more giggles, before she took hold again. Mrs Watson heard the commotion.

“What are you two up too?” she asked, little did any of us know that this was going to be her constant refrain over the coming weeks and months.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 19, 2021 at 7:33 PM
Content: Edited the bit above by adding some line breaks as suggested from my other stories. Thank you!!!! I hope this is a bit easier to read now. It is a hard story for me to write down, as although this was an island of happiness, my life was a fairly desolate ocean of loneliness back then. Remember I honestly thought I was the only person in the entire world who was turned on by diapers which must have made me the sickest pervert to have ever lived.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 19, 2021 at 11:00 PM
Content: Oh Kerry, thank you, thank you, thank you. You are wonderful. I shall go back and edit it. You must all think I am useless (hint: I am!!)

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 20, 2021 at 12:32 AM
Content: Oh thank you!! This part is all truthful, as I saw it at least. I have changed names, but it should go a way to trying to explain me. I am a bit fucked up, and I am afraid totally useless. What is shocking is that I am presently employed as a secretary...no small wonder the company is almost bankrupt!!

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 20, 2021 at 3:21 PM
Content:

LifeGoesOn223 said:

This is definitely something Ill be following. The fact it has truth to it makes it better in my eyes. Hope to see more!

[End of quote]

There is a lot more. I just want to learn from what Kerry has taught me and make it easier for everyone to read. All these beginning chapters are true. It is only at the end that my fantasies take over. I am so pleased you are enjoying reading about my past.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 20, 2021 at 3:21 PM
Content:

wetatnight said:

a great story so far
I look forward to reading more

[End of quote]

There is more...working on it now!!

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 20, 2021 at 3:55 PM
Content: Chapter 2. Getting to know the Watsons

We walked back into the house and through to little Mary’s room. Alongside her cot was a raised changing table.

“Here, pop her down on here, and I will quickly get her changed”

I think Mrs Watson was expecting me to leave them, but I decided to remain, I chatted with Mary, while her mommy changed her. I leant close to Mary, and removed her pacifier as she babbled excitedly, gurgling with pleasure. Once finished, Mrs Watson stood back for a while watching closely as Mary and I chatted away, a huge smile across her face. Eventually she broke the spell,

“Well would you two like to join me in the living room for juice and biscuits?”

“Jooooose!!!” shouted Mary

“Biscuits!” I joined in the excitement, picking up the now changed Mary back in my arms.

Mrs Watson brought her hand up to her mouth, trying not to shout excitedly with the sudden positive changes in her daughter. Mary in the meantime went back to pulling my ponytail, grabbing a handful of hair in one hand and my ribbon in the other, she hollered with excitement as I tried to shake her holds loose, whilst still walking slowly, carefully back into the living room.

“Here, you go straight through, and I shall be as quick as I can” directed Mrs Watson, as she dashed to the kitchen.

The peals of laughter from us both and the shrieks of excitement from Mary could be clearly heard in the kitchen, and Mrs Watson’s eyes began to fill with tears as she prepared the three drinks, a sippy mug of juice for Mary, a glass of juice for Ann, and a cup of tea for herself. She ought to be popping champagne she thought to herself, as yet another chorus of laughter and shrieks came from the living room, she stepped back quickly across the hall. Stopping in the doorway to take in the scene in front of her. Her previously quiet, shy introverted little girl was lying on the sofa her tummy exposed, while I was pretending to be a big cat hunting her across the room, I dummy charged with a roar, and Mary shrieked waving her arms and legs, this continued with me getting closer and closer, to louder and louder laughter, until I ‘pounced’ saying I would gobble her all up and blew raspberries onto her tummy. This brought the loudest shriek of them all!!

“Amazing, amazing, amazing”

I looked over at Mrs Watson stood holding the tray of drinks in her arms, tears were flowing down her cheeks, and already leaving blotches on her blouse.

“Mrs Watson! What is the matter, have I done something wrong?” I rushed over to take the tray off her. I should have known I would mess this up, I am usually good at doing that.

“No, no, nothing is wrong, nothing is wrong at all!” Mrs Watson was still frozen to the spot, her eyes fixed on her daughter. “Ann, you really are amazing, you have only just arrived here, and yet I have never seen Mary so animated, so happy in her entire life!” With that she moved and placed the tray down on the table, rushing to hug her daughter.

“Have you got a new friend, Mary? Would you like your new friend to come and play with you again?”

Mary looked at me over her mother’s shoulder.

“Ann eat me, Ann eat me” she repeated, seriously.

“No, I don’t think Ann is going to eat you, Mary”

But Mary’s voice got more insistent

“Ann eat me!!”

I interrupted, “actually, Mrs Watson, I think Mary is trying to tell me to repeat what I was just doing to her”

With that, Mrs Watson lay Mary gently back down on the sofa where she immediately assumed the same position with her arms out wide, and I ‘stalked’ her around the coffee table, roaring as I moved. The shrieking laughter immediately started again, and I repeated the hunt until I was blowing raspberries on her tummy again. Finally we stopped as I could see that Mary was beginning to breathe more deeply from all the shrieking.

“Let’s stop and have our juice shall we Mary”, with that I plopped down next to her. My hand fell naturally stroking Mary’s cheek.

Mrs Watson had regained most of her composure, but now had a wet tissue pressed in her hand.

“Ann, you please must say yes, that you will come and help me with Mary, I will pay anything you ask” said Mrs Watson

“Of course, I will Mrs Watson, I like Mary, she is a cute kid!” I replied.

With that Mary pushed her feet against my thigh, “More Ann! Again more! Eat Mary Ann!!”

I turned and lifted her back onto my lap, “Maybe later, Mary, let’s have our juice and biscuits that your Mommy has kindly made us?”

“Jooooose!!”

“Biscuits!” I replied.

I lifted Mary’s sippy cup to her, and made sure she had good hold with both hands and was able to drink before reaching for my own glass. But soon it was clear that Mary was having some issues with her cup, so I set down my glass and helped her hold the spout to her mouth. She kept her large eyes fixed on me, as Mrs Watson and I chatted.

Yes, I could come here straight from school, and no, I was certain that would not be a problem for anyone at home. Yes, I even promised to do my homework there so my schoolwork would not suffer. No, there was certainly no boyfriend who would be pining my absence! Finally Mary had finished her drink and was wriggling about on my lap so I boosted her up so she was stood leaning against me, her hands went straight to my ponytail again, as I tried to drink again.

“Mary!” Her mother exclaimed, “you are standing!”

“Well not really Mrs Watson, she is leaning her weight against me, and she has a really good hold of my hair” I corrected, not mentioning my arm going around her to catch her if she fell.

“No Ann, she is actually standing on her own, on her legs. She has only ever done that in hospital before, in a frame and in tears. Ann, I can’t get over you, you are working miracles with my daughter”

Finally I felt Mary’s legs begin to quiver, an I knew the signs of muscle exhaustion, so I eased her back down to a seated position.

The rest of the afternoon continued in much the same way, Mary and I just played together. I felt like an over-protective big sister, whilst Mary’s mother watched us play together. She joined in the laughter, and I could notice a relaxation in her whole being as she slowly realised her precious daughter was quite safe with this odd, little child, who clearly moved a bit clumsily at times, but seemed to be happiest when keeping her precious daughter, Mary, happy.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 21, 2021 at 3:45 AM
Content:

kerry said:

This is lovely! It is a sweet story, and you are working hard on it. Nice!

[End of quote]

Thank you for your encouragement!

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 21, 2021 at 3:50 AM
Content:

Fiammaverde said:

Your story is quite interesting. How old (and heavy) was exactly Mary at that time?

[End of quote]

Thank you for the comment. But slightly odd question - exactly? Remember Mary was quite severely disabled, with multiple conditions, which will become more and more evident as this unfolds. But at this stage Mary was 5 years and 10 months old, but she probably weighed less than 30kg.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 21, 2021 at 1:04 PM
Content: Chapter 3: End of the first day with Mary and her Mother

I could sense Mary’s reserves of energy begin to wilt, and so I slowed the play down accordingly. Sat on the floor with my back to the sofa, I positioned Mary between my legs and held one of the many books in front of her. I read while she grasped my wrists or pointed to the different animals as I attempted to mimic their noises. Mrs Watson had started cooking supper for Mary but was watching and listening from the door. I had got used to her presence. Clearly, this was very new territory for her, and I was determined to make a really good showing on my first day.

“Are you enjoying that story Mary? Isn’t Ann so clever at making those animal noises? You two just continue what you are doing, while I fix Ann’s hair, that some little monster has managed to pull loose”

With that she sat on the sofa behind me and swung one of her long legs over us both, so we were all sat in a line each of the smaller ones sat between the legs of the next biggest person. I felt her hands on my hair, removing the elastic band and green ribbon which was part of our school uniform. I really struggled to keep reading as Mrs Watson began to brush my hair. It was the most wonderful feeling of my entire life to that point. The gentle brushing as she gathered it all together. Pulling it firmly through her fingers. My entire body seemed to buzz in response. Mary had to keep reminding me to read the next line, or make the next noise. I am still of the opinion, to this day, that there are special secret nerves that start in my scalp, but are directly connected to my nipples, my clit, and the deepest parts of my vagina. There is not a neurologist in the world today, who can convince me that I am wrong!!

“You have lovely hair, Ann, what conditioner do you use?” asked Mrs Watson, making light conversation. I couldn’t bare to tell her the truth; no conditioner, no shampoo, just soap worked into a lather.

“Err...I don’t use conditioner at all” I mumbled, quickly getting back to the reading in case she asked any more embarrassing questions.

“I am sure your mother must do this for you all the time?”

I wanted to scream the truth, to tell her no, the only time my mother touched my hair was to pull it in a drunken rage, but instead I kept reading, the humiliation causing me to shake and even Mary turned around and looked at me with her big blue eyes, wondering what had changed. I didn’t want her to see my humiliation either, so instead I hugged her close to me, and kissed her head, as her mother finished fashioning my ponytail high on my head and redid the ribbon with a wonderful bow.

I declined supper for myself and assured Mrs Watson that there was no need to call home, I might even have suggested that my mother was busy. But the only thing my biological mother was ever busy with was making it to the bottom of a bottle of wine.

I was happier than I had ever been, as I fed Mary her meal. She wasn’t a great eater but using all the tricks and experience that I had thus far learned, including trains heading for the tunnel and airplanes coming in to land in the big hanger, we made our way through it. I joined Mary with some milk at the end of the meal, hers in her sippy cup but mine in a grown up glass. Mrs Watson cleared the table as I sat Mary on my lap and gently winded her, after obtaining a couple of good burps I encouraged her to lean her head against me and began a gentle rocking.

“Oh, Ann, you really have a remarkable ability with my daughter, I do so hope we can convince you to come and join our little family. Honestly, I have never seen Mary so animated, so positive, I have no doubt you are the ideal little person for us, please say yes” Mary’s mother pleaded.

“Mrs Watson, of course I want to come and help you with Mary, she is the cutest little kid I have ever met” and with that I kissed the slowly drooping head”

Mary finally fell asleep, and I gently passed the sleeping body to her mother, whispering “I can see myself out, see you tomorrow, straight after school?”

Mrs Watson looked concerned, Whispering back, “will you be OK walking through these streets in the dark, I couldn’t live with myself if anything were to happen to you”

“I’ll be fine, please don’t worry, good night and see you both tomorrow!!”

With that I quietly let myself out, but I could see the outline of Mrs Watson holding a sleeping Mary in her arms as she tried to follow my movements down the street, but I was in no danger, I was floating on an air of happiness, and I skipped, ran and stumbled all the way home.

The ballon of happiness was violently burst with the first drunken tirade that greeted me when I got home, “what time do you call this you dirty little slut? Been out getting felt up by some boy have you? Leaving your poor mother alone while your off cavorting about, flashing your body?” Spittle issued from her lips landing on my uniform and face.

I wiped my face with my hand, “no, I haven’t, I told you I was seeing a new lady about a babysitting job,” I angrily replied, “and I don’t flash my body, cavort, or get felt up by some boy, and anyway you had your usual bottle of wine to keep you company”. I shrieked in fear and then launched my way past her as she raised her hand as if to strike me.

“Nah! You ain’t got nothing worth flashing, you poor deformed little thing!” my mother snarled after me, then she laughed like she had just made a funny joke.

I opened the fridge hoping to find something edible in there, but none of the drying congealed lumps looked at all appetising and several of them had colourful mould growing, I threw the worst in the bin, and then sniffed the milk to see if it was off. It was, and the smell almost made me gag, that followed the food into the bin. I emptied some dry sugar puffs into the cleanest bowl I could find in the cupboard and quickly headed up to my room to eat them. I always locked my bedroom door when I was in my room, but I scanned around to check no one had been in while I had been away. Everything looked as it should, I pulled the half eaten chocolate bar from the back of my desk drawer, an ate that together with the cereal as I sat in my usual spot in my bedroom window, my knees up around my chin.

I looked out of the window trying to work out if I would be able to see Mary’s house. I wondered if one of those feint dots out there was Mary’s house. I closed my eyes tightly and tried to remember every detail of the day, I did not want to lose a precious second. I imagined being Mary right then, being changed into a fresh, dry, soft new diaper. Being placed in a warm little cot, and the special words that a loving mother might say to her daughter. How I yearned to be Mary. I wished I could have been that disabled girl and not this one.

I went to bed that night with an old bobble hat to try to save perfect ponytail

The next days at school seemed to last forever. I paid no attention to any of the teachers and even the playground taunts didn’t penetrate my armour. Finally the bell would ring and I usually managed to make sure I was one of the first out of school so none of the bullies could catch me. I just hoped Mrs Watson would not realise that I was wearing exactly the same clothing right down to my knickers, each day.

Many of the days passed in much the same way. With me rushing from school to my new safe place. They all followed a similar format. But slowly a pattern had begun to emerge.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 21, 2021 at 1:47 PM
Content:

BelGeorge said:

Ow. I suppose what you're describing here is indeed a true story, and the situation at home sounds terrible.
At the same time, I think that what we have read so far about the Watson family is only the beginning of a beautiful story. Thanks for sharing that here.

[End of quote]

Spot on!! My dysfunctional home life was pretty awful. But I didn’t realise how awful until I experienced unconditional love at the Watson’s house. My biological mother left me with many scars, inside and out.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 21, 2021 at 2:17 PM
Content:

babyann said:

Spot on!! My dysfunctional home life was pretty awful. But I didn’t realise how awful until I experienced unconditional love at the Watson’s house. My biological mother left me with many scars, inside and out.

[End of quote]

Sorry, that message was all too negative. The Watson’s (not their real name) first taught me about love and the importance of it in our lives. And plenty of other people since those times too…

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 22, 2021 at 8:03 AM
Content:

TheAbodge said:

It's quite wonderful to watch you take the thorns of your life and transform them into beautiful roses. You've shown us in the past week that grammer, structure and punctuation can be learned. However, the gift you have for weaving stories together with feeling and emotion is not so easily acquired. As you continue to share your story with us, I only hope it brings you some of the joy and validation that was missing from your childhood. You are a talented and beautiful person, don't ever let anyone convince you otherwise.

[End of quote]

I am enjoying trying to improve my writing…as for the story; please remember that I am the author, writing from my perspective, so I am no angel in real life, and possibly the ogres were not quite as bad as my memory tells me they were…. Everything is still factual at this stage…like many other teenaged girls of my era, I kept copious diaries, which I still have. I did think about just transposing my scribbles from there…but the spelling and grammar is even worse, and there are pages and pages of anxious teenaged girls questions and random thoughts, plus some pretty raunchy fantasies, which would not only embarrass me, but probably be biologically impossible. I am sure that most people are shaped by people and events of their childhood, so I am no different. Many people also had a tough childhood too. The negative issues did lead to events and problems that most of the people in my life know about, and no one wants to read about drug issues, anorexia, and self harming. But somehow hardly anyone knows about the good bits, which, in the whole scheme of things are more important. This is a pathetic attempt to start to try to redress the balance.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 22, 2021 at 7:41 PM
Content: Chapter 4: A Change of Uniform

I was quite breathless when I arrived at her house. Again, I retrieved my socks, that were both around my ankles, and even wiped a wet finger across the toe of my shoes so they would not look too scuffed. I adjusted everything and remembered to stand up as straight as possible. I quickly checked my still perfect ponytail, and even considered pulling it loose so Mrs Watson would brush my hair again!! But I decided that the best plan would be to ensure that Mary pulled it loose for me. With my heart beating quickly I rang the bell.

It was some time before the door was opened. Mary was in her mother’s arms, bib still around her neck. Mary squealed in delight when she saw me and immediately held out her arms.

“Ann, Ann, Mommy me want Ann”, kicking and wriggling in her mother’s arms she was passed over to me before Mrs Watson and I could properly greet one another.

“It is your little friend Mary, here you go!” Mrs Watson said as she passed the wriggling child to me. Mary’s hands shot straight to my ponytail, while a quite dirty bib was pushed into my face. “Mary, no, you are making such a mess, Ann I am so sorry, we will clean you up immediately, but I am so pleased you are here, as all Mary could talk about since she woke up was you! She has been quite impossible!”

I walked carefully into the house, with the precious bundle in my arms, my voice slightly muted by the dirty bib, “it is fine, Mrs Watson, I have been looking forward to seeing Mary too” I admitted, we made it through to the kitchen where evidence of a half eaten and half catapulted meal was strewn across the counter. A half full yoghurt pot with a spoon was further evidence of the progression. I sat down and arranged Mary on my lap,

“Shall we have some yoghurt?” I asked Mary.

“No!” Said my little charge, cheekily grinning and shaking her head.

“Ann, she has been like this all day, my little monster! Don’t worry if she doesn’t want to eat the yoghurt, I think I got some to end up inside her tummy.” Her mother said, getting a cloth, and coming around the table to help me remove the extra helpings that were now on my face and clothing. “Oh no, she has got some on your nice uniform, Ann I am so sorry,” as she tried to dab the worst of it off.

“Don’t worry about it Mrs Watson, this is an old uniform anyway”, I was worried that if she inspected the uniform too closely she would see just how threadbare it was. I didn’t point out it was also the only uniform I had.

I aimed my attention at Mary, determined that I would succeed, where her mother had failed, and I would get her to eat the rest of the yoghurt. In the end I was successful, after pretending to eat the spoonfuls that she rejected, or pushed my way. I victoriously showed the empty pot to her mother.

“Ann, your miracle working never fails to astonish me!”, now would you two like some juice?”

Mary and I excitedly looked at each other, and then in chorus shouted “Jooooooose!”. That brought laughter from all of us.

Her mother turned to the fridge, “OK, OK, what am I going to do with you two?” That only brought more demands for juice and more laughter. She returned with a sippy cup and a glass chinking with ice again. I reached for Mary’s sippy cup and helped her get it in her hands, before reaching for my own glass.

“No, Ann, Jooose!” complained Mary, so I turned back to assist her drink her juice, but each time I went to reach for my own glass, I got the same response. In the end, Mary tried to push her sippy cup at me, clearly not happy that we were possibly going to have different drinks.

“Mary, it is all the same” I tried to explain, quite thirsty, and hungry, if truth were to be told, but Mary was adamant, and eventually was clearly getting quite frustrated, not understanding that the fluid was the same, it was just the containers were different. This continued for some minutes, with Mary getting more and more fractious, but even her own mother could not convince her of the situation.

In the end, I suggested that if she had a spare sippy cup then she could transfer my drink into it. This at least would allow Mary to relax. Uncertainly, Mary’s mother transferred the contents of my glass into a similar sippy cup, and passed it to me across the table.

“Joooooose!” Mary announced, I grinned, as I knocked my matching sippy cup with hers. I brought the cup to my mouth and was immediately shocked with how much suction I needed to apply for a small amount of fluid. I found dropping the suction didn’t seem to alter the flow too much. But I enjoyed drinking my juice with Mary, under the approving gaze from her mother.

Finally, we both finished our sippy cups and I placed Mary on my lap to wind her. After successfully achieving the goals I cradled her in my arms until she slowly fell asleep. I then took her through and put her down in her bed, popping the pacifier into her mouth, and tip toeing out back to the kitchen where Mrs Watson was waiting for me.

“Ann, Mary has made such a mess of your uniform, we should clean it”

I brushed off some of the worst lumps and tried to ignore the rest, “please don’t worry, it is nothing”

“No, it is not nothing, I can’t have you going home in such a mess, your mother would be upset with me. Maybe, if this is going to continue you should go home first to get changed or you could drop a change of clothing here that is a bit more suitable for babysitting” she insisted.

“Really, it is nothing, my mother would not notice at all, I don’t really have enough spare clothing to leave some here” I admitted, a blush rising in my cheeks. I didn’t want to admit that much of the money she paid me was actually covering the grocery bill for my entire house.

“Right, then tomorrow we are going girly shopping, it has been ages since I have had chance to visit the shops, and I would love to be able to spoil you and get you some nice new clothing. But for now, I shall find you something to wear from my own wardrobe so we can wash your things. Follow me”

We quietly moved into her bedroom which was next door to the sleeping Mary in her room, and she opened her wardrobe. “Right,” she whispered, “let me see if I can find any trendy clothing for my little accomplice?”

My palms became quite moist with nerves as I realised I wasn’t going to be able to stop this lady, even though surely there would be nothing in her wardrobe which would be even close to fitting me. Her eyes scanned over my slight body and I wanted the floor to swallow me up, as unlike her own, there was nothing remotely feminine about my frame; I had no curves and no boobies even though most nights I went to sleep with my fingers crossed and wishing that my boobs would begin to grow like all the other, even younger, girls in my class. My nipples appeared to be the only thing that had grown each time I inspected my flat chest. As for further down, I was just flat and shapeless, no hips, no bum. Mrs Watson went back to her shelves, and brought out a colourful T shirt, she rummaged some more and came out with some bright leggings,

“These should fit; I am not sure where they cam from, but I cannot squeeze myself into them, but your lithe frame should have no problems.” She threw a few different items onto the bed, “take your pick from this pile and then bring your school clothes through to the kitchen and we can put them all on a quick cycle and they should all be dry enough for you to take home.”

I wasn’t going to be able to avoid this, and I looked through the different items of clothing on the bed. The T shirt looked huge, but perhaps the least embarrassing, I had never owned any leggings, so these were a stranger item, as I felt the stretchy material. The sports bra was also a strange article, and I shuddered with nerves. I had never worn a bra of any sort, but desperately wanted to. This, however was not the right time to try out the experience. I guess I needed to choose the least embarrassing combination. So T shirt and leggings it was, but I decided to keep my own underwear on.

I slipped my shoes off, and undid the buttons holding the bib and at the side of the skirt, and stepped out of the faded green tatty gymslip. Oh, no! She was going to see in just what bad condition this was in. I took my tie off and undid my blouse, underneath I had a vest, which now hardly covered my navel. When I first got it, I could tuck it in my knickers I remembered. I fingered the waistband of my school regulation, bottle green,“granny knickers” as we referred to them, there was no way these were coming off I decided. I also chose to leave my school socks on, even though the various holes could now be seen now I had taken my shoes off. It was all I could do to stop pulling all my school clothing back on and running home, never having to return to show my face here...

I threw the T shirt over my head covering my small vest. The shirt was far too big for me and reached halfway down to my knees. Even the neck was too big, and I could have passed my entire body through the hole. This wasn’t going well. But I grasped the leggings and sat down on the bed, the cool sheets against my thin thighs. Pulling them up my legs, I could see that this wasn’t going to work, they remained baggy all around my legs, and would not stay up around my waist.

“Is everything OK?”Mrs Watson whispered from the door, she stepped into the room, to see me sitting on the edge of her bed, drowning in her clothing. I just sat shaking my head, untrusting of my voice to be able to explain the shame I felt. I just kept shaking my head to all her questions. She sat down and hugged me for the longest time. Eventually she pulled me to my feet and said, “Right, let us see what we can get to work shall we, but our shopping trip couldn’t happen quicker?” One of my hands was at the waistband of the leggings in order to stop them descending, and the other across my chest holding the shirt material to me. “Hmm, I really didn’t realise just how small...I mean petite...you are”

She went to the waistband and began to bunch the material together in order to put a knot in it, but the hem of the shirt kept getting in her way. “Here, can you hold this up out of my way?” She asked me as she tried to move the extra material out of her way. This exposed my lower back, and some of the scars from my multiple surgeries that I had endured as a younger child.

“What caused this…and this…and oh my word Ann…”, her fingers had first traced the scars on my hip, but then they transferred to the scars running up my spine. I am told they are ugly scars, but I had no inclination to line up mirrors to confirm that my ugly body carries ugly scars on it too.

“That is where they did operations on me, when I was 10. My back had some wrong curves in it, so they took some bone from my hip and put it in my spine to make it straighter. I had to lie on a bed in traction for weeks and weeks. It was horrible.” I explained.

“My you have been through the wars.” and then very, very quietly she added, “life has dealt you a pretty tough hand hasn’t it?” She followed that up with what was possibly just a reflex action, but to me it was so profound; she leant forward and kissed my back right on one of the ugly scars. My mind convulsed in confusion. How could someone so beautiful, so perfect, contaminate herself by not just kissing me, but kissing my ugly scars? What had provoked this tender action, I had been preconditioned to expecting revulsion as the first reaction to my body and it’s scars. It did not make any sense to me.

Finally she had adapted the leggings so they did not fall off me, although the loose waistband didn’t inspire much confidence and so I kept a grip on them as I moved. She arranged the T shirt so it was more or less centred and rolled each sleeve up a little, so they no longer went past my elbows. Finally a pair of airline issued travel socks were placed on each foot, and we returned to the kitchen, where my school uniform was placed in the smart washing machine, which started to hum and creak after what seemed a complicated set of codes were imparted through a panel of buttons and dials on the front.

Mrs Watson wanted to know more about my operations, and I informed her what I could from my limited knowledge of picking up scraps from adults and specialists who talked to one another about my condition and the surgical techniques they were to use on me. I had never really been directly involved in any of the conversations, as I was only the object of their important discussions. Mrs Watson appeared genuinely moved by my story, and her eyes gave that sympathy look that I had received from the few caring people that learned bits of my story over the years. She then asked again if I would be able to go shopping with her the next afternoon, and given that it was Friday, would I be able to stay overnight? I replied that I was sure that I could, I hadn’t told her that I had already turned down a couple of other requests for babysitting in favour of being able to spend time with her and Mary. For me this was totally different to any other babysitting I had done, as in all the other cases, the adults left as soon as I arrived, and I left as soon as they returned. This was possibly the longest I had spoken one on one with an adult at that stage in my life.

Finally we heard Mary stirring in her room.

“Please could you fetch her, and I shall make us up some drinks?” she requested. As I returned with a still sleepy Mary on my hip I saw the usual line up of a cup and saucer, a plate of biscuits and two sippy cups.

“Joooooose” identified Mary.

“Biscuits” I responded giving her a hug at the same time.

As we all sat with our respective drinks Mrs Watson addressed her daughter, “Mary, we are having a special day tomorrow, we are going out to buy Ann some nice, new clothes, and then she is staying to have a sleepover with us. Even I struggled to contain my excitement like Mary, and I wasn’t going to admit that this would be my first ever sleepover!

The rest of the afternoon passed like most of the others, the only difference was that I was faced with an ongoing battle to keep my leggings at height of some decency, gravity appeared determined to give my hosts a clear view of my school regulation knickers.

The washing machine disgorged the almost dry warm school uniform and Mrs Watson set about folding and ironing the different items as I fed Mary her supper.

Walking home presented yet more challenges as this strangely attired small girl picked her way home carefully holding the bundle of neatly ironed and properly folded clothing. Mrs Watson had decided not to mention anything about the clear age and wear of each item, but had managed to properly sew back one button that was literally hanging on by a single thread and had found a suitable button to replace another that had already fallen off. The dirt on the inside of the blouses collar pointed to a combination of a lack of personal hygiene but also an awfully long delay since the previous wash. Mrs Watson could only imagine the sort of squalid conditions that I faced at my mother’s house.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 23, 2021 at 8:46 AM
Content: Thank you Michigan!! Why do I feel like a pop star saying that??! I am really so happy to get such positive comments. I will try to put up another bit today, but I am going away for a few (wonderful) days, and I know I will probably be too busy with other things, so it will be unlikely that anything will get posted for a few days after today. This doesn’t mean I am abandoning the story! There is an awful lot more rubbish that you will be having to wade through from me yet, and we haven’t even got to the fantasy stages yet!

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 23, 2021 at 1:10 PM
Content: She did; she quickly worked out my issues and problems at home, and admitted that too me much later. She is also a very sensitive and caring human being who would not humiliate someone by pointing this out to them. I thought at the time that I was being oh so clever in hiding this away from people, but as it turned out lots of people were aware of my home situation. She was wonderful, but I found out later that the school had been concerned about my home life, and even knew my mother was an alcoholic, but they never once stepped in to help. Not a single person or teacher from that godforsaken school came forward to offer me any help or support, they were all quite happy to just let me sit at the back of each class, clearly very upset for years and years. Sorry, but it really hits a nerve here, and I often wonder how many other kids are having to go through the same sort of thing now? I was FAILED by that school system, I was FAILED by every single teacher, principal and administrator at that school. They all knew it turned out later, all of them. But they were more interested in their school league tables in the exams or even the fucking netball results. Sorry, sorry I had to say that. I know it should not be here, but if not here then where?? It was systemic child abuse by the system. Of course, my mother was to blame, and with any luck she is rotting in hell now for it, but the school system should have picked it up. In a “civilised country” which claims to put children’s rights at the top of the agenda…the system failed me and is still failing others. Sorry…you comment didn’t deserve this outburst, but I needed to say it. Sorry.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 23, 2021 at 1:26 PM
Content:

wetatnight said:

where was child protective services when all of this was going on ?

[End of quote]

Not around. Ever. Not once. Sorry, I have managed to get all upset over this, so I just need to step away for a little bit. It is certainly not a reflection on anyone that has commented here, just some raw nerves for me, which I didn’t realise until now were so raw.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 23, 2021 at 5:35 PM
Content:

sinceiwassmall said:

Hey, don’t let anyone push you into sharing your story any differently or any faster than you’re ready to. The creative and therapeutic value of writing it is 100 times more important then anything else.

[End of quote]

I have had a little weep, and sort of pulled myself together. No one (other than me) is pushing me to share this story. But I have had to think back to some of those dark times, and along with reading my diaries I finally realised just how badly the system let me, and presumably is still letting down kids who are in vulnerable situations. This was the start of a beautiful period of sunlight in my life, but it didn’t last for some truly heartbreaking reasons, which I wont share here. So there is some melancholy attached to a lot of this for me.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 24, 2021 at 7:22 AM
Content:

Chess said:

I'm sorry to hear that it didn't last. I hope you have a good life now, and that writing gives catharsis.

[End of quote]

Yes, I am finally in a better place now. As with many others, my life has had its ups and down…just my ups are a long, long way up, and similarly the downs are a long way down. Writing this is similar, the nice bits are wonderful as it has been years since I have thought about these, and I am able to remember long forgotten pieces of my life.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 24, 2021 at 10:21 AM
Content:

dwayne said:

wish you could have been with me in my good school they was so helpful to me in so many ways hope you have better help now and doing well

[End of quote]

I wish so many aspects of my childhood were different, and I worry how many children are trapped in similar situations or worse now. One thing I have discovered in my life is that there appear to be many, many gaps that people will fall through. You hear politicians of different parties making claims that they are looking after everyone in society, but they are not. Discrimination is still a reality, for many people. People with disabilities (especially invisible disabilities) still face awful challenges from society.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jun 24, 2021 at 10:54 AM
Content: Chapter 5: Shopping

When I woke up early on the following morning, I felt guilty unfolding the blouse, as it was so neat, perfectly folded and ironed. Once on, I admired the straight creases that ran down each arm. The uniform itself felt and smelled different. It felt much softer than ever before and had a faint aroma of flowers. Although no one else actually noticed the difference, I actually felt a couple of inches taller as I felt I didn’t have to hide from other people’s vision. But the morning dragged on at a dreadfully slow pace, and I treated the final bell of the day as a starting pistol. I was panting for breath as I pressed on the doorbell, for once not concerned about the level of my socks.

“Mary and I have been so excited all morning waiting for you, haven’t we Mary?” Mrs Watson announced as she greeted me on opening the door, she passed the wriggling child over to me before losing grip as Mary fought to free herself from her mother’s grip and into my own arms. “OK, we see who your favourite is, young madam! I have just changed her so let me grab my bags and keys and we can get straight off.”

Mrs Watson had a very smart, nearly new, car. Mary had a special seat attached on the back seat of the car, which gave her body the support it needed, Mrs Watson joined the various buckles and straps which seemed to come from each corner of the seat, meeting together in a large, padded contraption in the middle. I chose to sit in the back next to Mary, to keep her company.

The shopping trip was a whirlwind of high excitement. Mary was placed in a stroller which had come from the boot of the car, and Mrs Watson marched us from one shop to the next. I giddy, never having been faced with so many decisions. Which item from the rack? What colour? What length? Which design? Would this match with that? I did keep trying to call an end to the innumerable shops that we descended upon, as I tried to work out a running total of how much money Mrs Watson was spending on me. But her excitement was infectious, and she clearly had lengthy previous experience of being a professional shopper. It appeared to be a catharsis for Mrs Watson too. She had been used, in her life before Mary, to fairly extravagant shopping trips, as she packed her wardrobe with latest fashion items. An international air hostess was still a high profile career, and the shopping opportunities for the international crews were almost limitless. She enjoyed purchasing the clothing for me almost as much as I appreciated her generosity. Mary got involved in the action too. She would clap her hands if something was held up in front of me that she approved of, and pulling a face if she didn’t like it. Several times Mrs Watson was able to purchase something very similar for us both, as this pleased Mary the most. But after a couple of hours both Mary and I were approaching exhaustion, Mrs Watson appeared to have the energy to continue on, although her credit card limit may have curtailed our shopping at any moment. We each carried (or had them hanging from her stroller in Mary’s case) many bags of different clothing. I now had many types of clothing that I had never owned or worn before. I had reached one of my most desperate goals, as I was now the owner of a bra, and not just one bra, but several. They were only, what was called, training bras, but they still counted, to me. I had packets of different panties, all in slightly different colours and styles, including, to me, some rather skimpy numbers, which I had already decided should never be seen by my mother. In fact, I was sure that none of this clothing should ever come back with me to my mother’s house, but I would ask if I could keep them at the Watson’s house. I had tights (pantyhose) and hold ups, which were quite alien to me. All of the more mature or skimpy clothing had been chosen by Mrs Watson, who, she later admitted, was quietly surprised with the sorts of clothing choice that I tended to look at. As I was so short for my age, there was often little point looking along the racks for my actual age group, but Mrs Watson noticed that I often gravitated towards styles and fashioned aimed at much younger, even prepubescent children. Indeed one choice, where she had been able to find and purchase a similar choice for Mary, was a particularly frilly pink sundress. She felt it was aimed much more at a child of Mary’s age rather than my age, but being from the younger section it was quite a bit cheaper than the usual teenage choice. This and the fact that my face had lit up when we saw it made it a ‘must buy’ purchase.

We made it home and placed all the bags in the spare room, which was to become my room. I was to give them all a fashion parade, but we decided we would wait until the next day as Mary and I were exhausted. But I was able to try on one new outfit, a cropped top (which, I only later discovered, exposed too many ugly scars on my back), with a short skirt worn over leggings and of course new Tanga panties along with matching training bra, underneath. The bra was really nothing more than two triangles of cloth suspended across my flat chest, but it made me feel much more grown up. Just working out how to put it on, and feeling the straps over my shoulders, made me feel ‘special’ and very ‘mature’ and ‘sophisticated’. There were little booties that finished the outfit off, but I decided barefoot was fine for indoors. Mary clapped when she saw me wearing the new clothing, and I had to give a twirl to the appreciation of both Mary and her mother.

Again, I managed to convince Mary to eat all her food, and we each downed our sippy cups of juice together. After a short play, I took Mary for a bath, which I was to find out was a mistake in my brand new clothes.

I am really short, even now, when I claim on a good day to have achieved 5 feet, that is possibly only really the case with an optimistic measure. Then I was shorter, and certainly had greater problems with dexterity. Anyone who has tried to hold onto a soapy, wriggling child will attest to this being a tricky job. Because of my limited height, and the bath having particularly high sides, I had to sort of balance myself, with my midriff on the edge of the bath. Lots of bubbles, toys and laughter didn’t help with this, and our noise caused Mrs Watson to come in and then take a photograph that I still treasure as one of my most valuable possessions. It is not at all flattering of me, all you see are two skinny legs, clad in leggings, quite a bit of my bottom under the short skirt, but next to these legs, you can clearly see Mary’s sweet, little smiling face, covered in bubbles laughing at the camera (presumably because of my predicament!!). The floor also has puddles and bubbles all over it. I was soaked through as were all my new clothes. The floor was quite treacherous to walk over. After the giggling camerawoman had captured the scene and pulled herself together she did manage to make her way over and rescue us both. I needed to change again into another set of of new clothes (so I wasn’t complaining!), so after another fashion show, I managed to calm the giggling Mary enough for her to eventually fall asleep, and I tucked her up in bed. It was suggested at that stage, and eventually I became brave enough, to strip off myself and just to climb into the bath myself, as this was easier for all of us, to bathe a wriggling child. I would try to hide as much of myself from her mother’s eyes, when she would come in and rescue Mary. If Mary was willing then sometimes she would be happy to stay swathed in towels, while Mrs Watson would wash my back as a special treat. For many years she was the only adult, out of hospital who had vision of my different operation scars.

The rest of the evening became a template which was repeated over and over in the weeks later. I am sure for anyone looking in, they would appear as very mundane, and even boring. As I found out, it was two lonely females revelling in the attention of someone who cared for them. Mrs Watson was so very lonely, as she not only had to give up her career to become a full time single mother, but her own family had disapproved of the relationship and subsequent pregnancy. Because of Mary’s disabilities, she had become almost a prisoner in her own house. It appeared that quite a number of her former colleagues must have also taken a dim view of the events, as she hardly mentioned any present friendships. For me, it was just a whole new world, were I sat and not only had long discussions with an adult, but that adult treated me the same, as an equal. Well, maybe not as an equal, but at least as an adult. Our relationship felt like I would expect two sisters, with a considerable age difference, to be like. She was worldly wise, and I was incredibly naive. I was quizzed about my social life, which didn’t take long, as those evenings were the only things that could have fallen into that category. My school life didn’t take too long either, but she rarely pried into my home life. She was wise enough to be able to join the dots and not to humiliate me by having to describe the unhappy times that were endured within the four walls of the building that may carry the title alone of family home.

We talked about fashion, makeup; my completely gnawed fingernails were roughly shaped, and painted with different colours out of her endless boxes and bags of makeup. She was amazed and I even had to demonstrate how I would bite my toenails. We spoke about movies, and music, and often we would lie down nose to tail on her sofa to watch different movies together. If Mrs Watson had a 5 years of socialising to catch up on, then I had a lifetime!! But the very, very best moments for me was when she would brush and fashion my hair. She was an expert and my previous lank mousy blond was shaped into a myriad of plaits and styles. She would literally spend hours plaiting my hair while I experienced something close to ecstasy in her hands and in her proximity. We even spoke about sex, although not only was I still a virgin at that stage, I had not even experienced the ‘typical’ fumblings that I have since discovered most teenagers do. I didn’t even masturbate, in fact I hardly ever even touched myself ‘down there’ and would never have admitted rubbing the innumerable baby nappies between my legs, which created a ‘funny’, ‘nice’ feeling in my tummy. Yes, I had never experienced an orgasm at that stage in my life. I have spent the rest of my life trying to give myself as many orgasms as possible, to make up for missing so many then! Those evenings were magical and very special. Sometimes my school homework was the only topic, and she would always try to help me if there were aspects that was causing me problems. She was very bright and intelligent and had the ability to be able to describe things in ways that even I could follow. Certainly I used every excuse I could dream of to spend more and more time there, rather than to have to face the cold, lonely evenings at the house where my mother did most of her drinking.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 1, 2021 at 2:03 PM
Content: Chapter 6: Birthday Celebrations

Normally Mrs Watson would have a glass of wine or two, and sometimes she would drink Gin and Tonic, or a Brandy. But I stuck with juice (similar to the orgasms, attempts later in life tried to make up for those missing drinking opportunities, but after drinking my fill, and probably a bit more, I am back to being teetotal now). One night was different. To anyone else the day had started normally, for me. I happened not to have slept there the night before, but had only left quite late quite a while after Mary had gone to bed. Secretly, I had been hoping that Mrs Watson would declare that it was too late again for me to try to home, as she had done many times before. But I wasn’t so lucky and had come back to an empty dark house. Crashes shouts and the noise of drunk male and female, announced the return of my mother, and some latest conquest. This conquest was snoring loudly the next morning as I made my exit to school. The only difference at school was receiving a standard card from my year’s teacher in my pigeon hole, which presumably she had signed at the beginning of the year, but thankfully had appeared to have forgotten about at register taking.

The afternoon and evening had been uneventful at the Watson’s too. It had already been arranged that I would be spending the night there as the next day was a public holiday, and a special treat to the zoo for Mary had been promised. I had carefully ensured that Mary had destroyed my ponytail, which was a task that she delighted in and always approached with a huge amount of zeal, needing little encouragement from me, which then had me sitting on the floor between Mrs Watson’s long legs as she rebuilt after her daughter’s demolition work. I was in my happiest place of all, and had worked up the courage to inform the goddess who was brushing my hair into different strands.

“It is my birthday today”. I quietly announced. The silence which followed continued for what seemed like a long time, and the brushing had completely stopped. I could see her legs still to either side of me, so at least I knew she was still there. Looking back, I don’t think my intention was to shock her, or for her to feel sorry for me. There was nothing to be sorry about; I was in my very favourite place of all. But I just wanted her, for someone, to know. Eventually the silence had gone on for too long, so I turned my head and body around to look at her. She was frozen in position her hands to her mouth, the hairbrush still in one hand. Her eyes were staring at me. I could see lots going on behind the eyes, but couldn’t discern what emotion I had caused. I didn’t want the sympathetic look, the one of feeling sorry for the poor little deformed girl that I was too used to from others. I tried to make light of it.

“It doesn’t really matter when you think about it, it is just another day, but I just wanted to tell you.” I tried to explain. The hairbrush was dropped and I was swept up in her arms my own arms trapped by my sides as I was squeezed my loose hair hiding my face, but also limiting my vision out. Eventually she released me and opened a gap in my hair as you might open a tent. Her large eyes were quite moist and she tenderly kissed my forehead, through the gap in my hair pushing it back tucking it all behind my ears.

“You scallywag, you should have told me before! Of course it matters; it really matters to us!” She remonstrated, with a sad note to her voice, “I would have bought you a present, and I am sure Mary would have wanted to share a birthday cake with you”. Then the significance of this birthday dawned on her “but, Ann, this is your 18th birthday! This is an important birthday. You should be having a party. You should be out celebrating with your friends!”

“This is exactly where I want to be,” I admitted. It was the simple truth. I wanted to be nowhere else, nor with anyone else here. I certainly did not want to be the centre of attention anywhere or have children invited to a party, not because they wanted or deserved to be there, but, as I had been on previous times, just there out of some sense of duty, or ‘good manners’. I tried to pass all this information on through my own eyes. This. Here. Now. Her. All made my perfect birthday.

“Well, this does cause for a celebration! I keep bottles of champagne in my fridge just for times like these, and I had been getting concerned that I would forget how to open them properly!”

Taking my hand she led me to the kitchen, “now have you had champagne before? No? Right then this is the perfect time for you to learn. We need special glasses,” as she reached up into the top of the cupboard where she kept all her glasses “you can have long thin glasses, which are called flutes, which are meant to maximise the effect of the bubbles, but I much prefer these, which are called coupes. They are said to be modelled on the shape of the French Queen, Marie Antoinette’s breasts” she held the 2 wide, shallow glasses to my chest, as if to compare me to Marie Antoinette, “hmm, not bad!” She winked, “but the only supposed downside is that the bubbles do not last as long, which only means you have to drink quicker, so I really see no downside at all myself!”

The glasses were placed on the kitchen counter, and then she took out a chilled bottle from the back of her fridge, showing me how precisely the cork was held in place by a small wired frame.

“You are lucky my 18 year old friend, as ex airline hostesses are known as being the experts the world over at opening bottles of champagne, because we open more bottles than anyone else! It has to be done with care, turning the bottle and not firing the cork down the airplane aisle!” The cork released into her hand with a short escape of air, and she poured us both a coupe of champagne, before picking both up, and giving me one. She was grinning wide, and we chinked our glasses together “wishing you the happiest of birthdays, my wonderful little angel!” The bubbles tickled my nose as I sipped the new drink. It tasted OK, although I also couldn’t tell what all the fuss around it really was. It was drinkable but perhaps not something I would choose over something else in a bar.

We walked back to the living room taking the bottle with us. We started chatting about what being 18 might mean to me, but she soon saw that my loose hair was causing me quite a distraction as it dipped into the champagne with each sip. She decided to give me a special birthday French plait in my hair as we drank. As this meant yet more time between her legs, with her hands at my hair, I leapt at the opportunity. Our conversation continued, and I summed up the courage to give voice to an idea that had previously been held silently in my mind.

“As I am now 18, I could leave home, leave school and come and live here full time to look after Mary”.

For the second time that evening I had stunned my host into silence. Eventually she began to brush again, “yes, and no, and yes. What I mean, is of course Mary and I would love to have you here every day, I know Mary would be absolutely delighted with that, as she is such a quiet little soul on the days that you are not with us. But I also will not let you finish with your school at this late stage. You must stay there and complete your school career, so you have qualifications and more options. You could then go on to learn to be a proper nanny, or a school teacher or a nurse, or something like that, I know it should be something to do with children as you have such a natural ability with them.”

“I could never be a nurse, as I hate hospitals, I find them really scary places. Same with teaching although schools are not normally quite so scary!” I joked

“I am not surprised you don’t like hospitals after all you have been through, but there are plenty of other careers that you could do. We can research them together. Of course, we want you to move here, but we need to discuss this with your mother.” She couldn’t see my scowl at the mention of my mother, but our conversation about careers and our future continued for some time until my hair, complete with ribbons was finished, along with the bottle of champagne. We also decided that, for Mary’s sake, we would pretend that my birthday was the next day, and the zoo trip would become a birthday treat. I guess I hadn’t noticed that my glass was being constantly refilled, but I fell over as I went to stand up. This caused a lot of merriment from us both. This was my first time being drunk and so I found it really strange. I think though, that my own disability, made me even more unstable, but soon the room began to tilt and spin, and quickly my own feelings of fun and happiness were overtaken by an awful feeling of nausea, that, and needing a wee, immediately. I tried to fight against the room spinning, but it seemed to make matters worse, I seemed to have lost control of my limbs. Mrs Watson must have seen that things were not all good, and she told me later that she thought I was actually fitting as she half-led and half-carried me to the bathroom. I felt my legs covered in a warm liquid, just as the toilet bowl appeared and I began to vomit into it. The vomiting was mostly liquid and even still slightly fizzy it felt, as I emptied my stomach into the toilet bowl, each retch causing yet more pee to come out of me at the other end. I felt so dreadful, and all the grown up dignity was also stripped out of me ending up in the toilet bowl. Mrs Watson kept gentle, but firm hold of me keeping my beautiful new French plait out of my repeated stomach emptyings. I couldn’t believe that any human could have as much inside in stomach as I did that night, and was sure that some of the awful stuff coming out must have been in there for weeks. Eventually I was just dry heaving, but as I sobered up, I began to realise the dreadful predicament that I was in, I was blubbing like a baby, with my bottom half clothed in the brand new clothing that I had been treated to, soaked in my own pee. I kept repeating how sorry I was, about the mess that I had caused. I felt wretched. Finally the room began to settle down, and I rested my face on the toilet seat, my lungs trying to get some oxygen back into my body. I felt that I had just run a marathon or something. Mrs Watson disappeared and came back with a warm damp flannel which she wiped my face with.

“I am so sorry, Ann, I should never have given you so much alcohol, knowing you don’t drink. That, combined with your body size meant that I have totally overdone it all, and on your special birthday too! I am so, so sorry, please don’t be upset.”

“No, it is my fault. And I have ruined the new clothes that you bought me too.”

“Ann, it is NOT your fault at all. And as for the clothes, they will all wash out, and then like we said earlier, we can pretend that none of this ever happened and start a fresh day to properly celebrate your birthday”

I thought this through, still resting my head on the cool toilet seat, “OK, but tomorrow no champagne for me just joooose!” I feebly quipped.

Mrs Watson gently rubbed my back, “as soon as you think you are finished here, just strip off and jump in the shower. Leave all your clothing here, and I will clean everything up and pop your clothing in the washing machine.” I began to try to decline, but I was firmly reproached and reminded that as an ex airline hostess she was well used to cleaning up much, much worse after airline passengers who weren’t as pretty or polite as I was.

Eventually, I was able to do just that. I stripped and stood under the shower crying and allowing the shower to remove all evidence. I can’t clearly remember getting from the shower into bed, but the next I knew I was in my own bed with Mrs Watson and Mary stood next to the bed looking at me. Shockingly I could see sunlight coming through under the drawn curtains.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 2, 2021 at 12:55 AM
Content:

kerry said:

This is such a wonderful story, Ann. Thank you for sharing it.

[End of quote]

Thank you, Kerry. that means a lot to me, given how annoying my earlier attempts were. I am also so pleased to finally record this happy period in my life. I think my whole life has been marked by huge highs and massive depths. The sad reality is that often, we allow the depths to define us. Often there are permanent scars from the negatives, but the positives leave less apparent marks. I have many physical and psychological scars. Some self inflicted but many done to me by other people. Internally I am pretty messed up too with permanent damage. I have a criminal record, and now actively avoid any sort of drug, including legal ones like alcohol or nicotine. I have been disowned by my own biological family, and have had to live through more than my share of friends and loved ones dying long before their time. In fact, it has only been very recently that the person I love with all my heart has been able to convince me that all the ‘bad luck’ which seemed to surround me was not, somehow, my fault. She has encouraged me to tell my story, and to record the incredible, beautiful people who were there to create the high points. For a long time, this was a part of my life that I could not even think about, as I allowed the following trough to delete or at least obscure it. It can be hard at times to write this, but it is also wonderful to give life to that period and those emotions again. I do spend most of the time writing it, with a big box of tissues between my computer and my old diaries. I hadn’t even been able to open these diaries until just over a year ago.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 2, 2021 at 10:24 AM
Content: Chapter 7: Visit to the Zoo

“How is the birthday girl feeling?” Mrs Watson tenderly enquired

“I am fine.” I lied, “ what time is it? Are we late for the zoo trip? I am sorry that I overslept!” I continued until I tried to move, then my head throbbed, and my stomach gave a spasm, causing me to groan.

“Don’t worry about the zoo, as we can go on another day, but Mary wants to give you a birthday kiss” with that Mary was gently lowered to me, she looked at me very seriously studying my reaction.

“Happy birthday Ann. Love you. Are you better now?” her mother quietly informed me that she had told Mary I wasn’t feeling to well.

“I am much better now, Mary, thank you!”

Mary nodded taking this information in and following the thoughts to its logical conclusion. “Good…we go zoo now!”

“Mary, no, I said we cannot go today as Mary is not feeling well”

Mary continued to study me closely. “Ann better. We go zoo!” She insisted.

I gave my little friend a hug.”thank you Mary. I do feel better, but it is up to your Mommy as we have left it so late”

“Oh thank you Ann, make me out to be the spoil-sport, why don’t you? OK, OK, you two win, as we are not too late at all. But you both stay there for a moment while I go and make Ann a cup of coffee, and give her something for the headache that she isn’t telling us about”

Mary sat next to me as I steadied her, and informed me excitedly, “we go zoo!” Her mommy had put her hair into two bunches which framed her face beautifully, so for once, I repaid her pulling my ponytail, and gave one of her bunches a short tug. This was rewarded with a squeak. My own hair was no longer in its beautiful French plait, but it was half undone from the shower the previous night, I inspected the damage, and decided, sadly, it would take too long to repair, so I began to unpick it, and was soon helped with Mary’s two little hands pulling the braids apart.

“Hey! What are you two up too? That took me ages to do yesterday” accused Mrs Watson as she offered me a mug of coffee and a couple of pills. “Here, take these. There are two good things to know about waking up with a hangover. One, it is easy to fix with fluids and aspirin, and two, how you feel first thing will be the worst you will feel all day, as you will feel better and better as the toxins leave your system”. She then retrieved my hairbrush and moved in on my hair.

“What shall we do with Ann’s hair, Mary, after she has spoiled all my work yesterday?”

Mary replied by raising both her hands up to her own bunches “hair!” She announced.

“Yes, clever girl! That is your hair!” I encouraged Mary

“Hair!” Mary repeated

“I think Mary wants me to give you two little bunches like she has! What do you think?” Asked her mother.

“I think it might look cute if we had matching hair for our zoo trip”

“That is a great idea!” Agreed her mother enthusiastically, “let’s even put matching ribbons in. And you could both wear your little matching sundresses too. Then I shall not lose either of you and everyone will see that you two are together!

So that was how on the day after my 18th, I went to the zoo wearing a frilly pink sundress with my hair in two bunches with pink ribbons. I could not have been happier, indeed in my mind, I thought that if this was how my ‘adult’ life was going to be, then I would have little worries with it. Underneath though, I was wearing new white lacey hold-ups, and one of my new bras. I think my image caused Mommy and others to treat me as a child, and in fact Mommy only noticed half way around that the reception desk had only charged her for one adult, one child, and one infant. Mary was in her stroller for most of the time, and we all had a really fabulous day, enjoying the animals, and the fresh air, but most of all we all loved being in each other’s company. We really began to feel like one ‘unit’. We had ice creams together, and we all used baby wipes to clean up the mess.

Towards the end of the day, I could feel my own energy levels dropping, and that often causes me some other problems. I tend to struggle a bit when I walk if I am tired as my feet seem to drag on the floor a bit more, and I become even more clumsy than normal. I was pushing Mary in her stroller, so I could lean on the handles to give me some balance, but I didn’t want to admit how much I was struggling as I really didn’t want to break the spell or bring this magical experience to a stop. But finally I could not hide my problems.

”Hey Annie, are you OK, sweetheart?”

”I am fine,” I lied, trying hard to smile, but fearing it looked more like a grimace.

“Here, let me push the little one for a while,” as my ‘support’ was taken away from me. I didn’t know, or want, to explain how I needed to use the stroller for my own balance, so continued forward behind trying hard to keep upright, but it was futile. Soon the inevitable happened, and I fell forward onto my face. Mary’s mother turned around to see me sprawled on the dusty pathway behind her, and rushed to help me up. But I was so exhausted that I couldn’t even stand, so I was swept up and carried over to a nearby bench. Once I was propped up there, Mary was brought over in her stroller, and her Mommy crouched down in front of me. The concern and sympathy in their expressions was enough together with the stares of strangers passing was enough to trigger my tears.

“I am sorry,” I sobbed, “I didn’t want to spoil the day…I don’t want this day to ever end…this is my best birthday ever…with the 2 people I love most in the world.” My tears were dabbed and the worst of the dust brushed off my new dress, but a graze on one knee was dribbling blood down my shin, and my tears soon set Mary off crying too…which made me feel even worse. To comfort us both, Mary was scooped out of her chair, and sat on her Mommy’s lap, while an arm was also placed around me. I responded by putting my own arms around them both and hiding my face into them both, blocking out the stares of strangers.

”don’t cry Ann, Mary love Ann, Mommy make Ann better” Mary quietly intoned with the plain logic of a child.

“I love you too Mary, and I love Mommy too. You and Mommy make me feel better” I whispered back to them both. We must have sat there for a long time, as a three person statue, with the only movement being the gentle stroking of my, and Mary’s backs, and the occasional sob that escaped out. After a while, Mommy kissed us both on our heads.

“What am I going to do with my two girls? Now, let’s get you cleaned up Ann, and head home. We can stop for a drive through treat on the way, or juice high tail it home for juice and biscuits”

”Jooooooose!”

”biscuits!”

We all laughed! The remaining dirt was mostly brushed off my dress and hands, and Mommy put a colourful elastoplast on my knee, that she carried in Mary’s diaper bag. I finally admitted that I was using the stroller to assist my balance, so I was positioned behind the push handles, but Mary’s Mommy put one of her hands next to mine on the push handle, and the other around my waist to make sure I didn’t drop again. We slowly made our way back to the car, where apparently both Mary and I were fast asleep before Mommy had made it out of the car park. Once we got home, Mary and I were fed and given our juice, before quickly bathing / showering and being sent to bed early with the promise we would discuss it all in the morning. But I wasn’t allowed to feel guilty or sad in any way, as everyone had enjoyed a very special day.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 4, 2021 at 9:37 PM
Content: Chapter 8: New beginnings

The next day dawned with an ominous aura in the house. I was still feeling guilty and was sure I was going to be informed that I was too disabled to be able to look after Mary. The more often I played over the potential outcomes, the worse the end result became apparent. Everyone was very quiet during breakfast, and I was sent off to school, with the promise that we would discuss everything, but I had nothing to be worried about.

Of course, this only made me much more concerned, and I nearly did not have the courage to return after school. But I made it through school and found myself outside Mary’s house again, feeling nauseous and fighting back the tears.

But Mary was her usual happy self, and threw herself at me, destroying my ponytail with gusto. After a while, I put her down for her nap, and walked with huge trepidation where I knew Mrs Watson was waiting for me. I wiped the sweat off the palms of my hands and walked in unable to look her in the eye.

“Ann, we need to talk” started Mrs Watson, but my terror took over before she could tell me that I was sacked.

“I know, and I am so, so sorry. I know I am unfit to look after Mary and I should have told you that I cannot walk too far, and I sometimes fall over, but I never take any chances when I am carrying Mary and I am always super careful, because I love her, and…”

With that Mrs Watson stood up and put her arms around me hugging me into her. “Shhh…shh…no, Ann, you have it completely wrong! We both love you too. You cannot even imagine the ray of sunlight that you have brought into our lives here.”

We sat down together on her huge sofa, in the corner which always got the afternoon sunshine. She threw her arms and legs around me, like a protective shield, putting her mouth close to my ear, so she could continue talking quietly but firmly to me. “Ann, before you arrived, this was like a prison for Mary and me. We rarely went out anywhere, and I had no one to talk to, and poor Mary only had me every day to play and interact with. I used to find myself talking to the daytime TV hosts! For five years our life was like this, before my doctor, as she didn’t want to prescribe me more anti-depressants, suggested that I get a carer or a babysitter to help me look after Mary, so I could reclaim some of my life. I will admit now I was very hesitant, and very nervous, because Mary is so fragile. I had never trusted her to another person in the world. Then you arrived, like a blessing from God. You animate Mary in a way that I could not have imagined, or dreamed of. Her speech, her movement, and importantly, her happiness, has so dramatically improved with you being here. She is so sad, and quickly reverts back to the unhappy little introvert that she was before, when you are not here. If I didn’t love you so much myself then I would feel quite inadequate, as every 5 minutes that you are not here, Mary asks when you are coming. If you are not here in the morning to get her out of bed, her little face drops, and the questions start. We never, ever want to lose you, and if you are really willing then we want you to move in? We all loved celebrating your birthday at the zoo yesterday, forget how yesterday ended, but I know you felt it too? We were a true family unit, with little Mary babbling with excitement while her wonderfully helpful big sister pushed her along in her stroller. My heart just melted looking at my two little girls, looking so alike in your dresses and matching bunches. Both of you with your own internal problems, but smiling through like the little fighters that you both are. Mary is learning so much from you Ann, and I don’t want that ever to stop.”

Tears of happiness were rolling down my face now, but I kept it hidden with my head bowed into her.

“So, I hope that puts your little heart at rest? But I also realise that if you are part of this family, which you are, then I have responsibilities towards you too. I am so ashamed I got you so drunk on your actual birthday, and then I didn’t pay enough attention to you the next day, but you were obviously still quite dehydrated and weak from that experience. But you never complain, and you certainly never give in, and you pushed your own little body beyond sensible limits yesterday. I should have seen that, so please, please accept my apology; I promise I won’t let it happen again. So there are a few things that come out of all these experiences. Firstly,” she ticked off on her elegant fingers, “we want you to move in here as soon as possible, and I will speak to your mother, secondly, I want my own, wonderful doctor to just have a look at you” I was shaking my head at these last two suggestions but she continued, “listen, I am sure it has probably been quite some time since you had a proper check up anyway, and at 18, there are many issues that ought to be checked, to avoid problems later on. My doctor is very sweet, and very kind, and I will make sure she does nothing to hurt you.”

I was still shaking my head. “Please Mrs Watson, you don’t need to speak to my mother, and I really don’t want to have to see a doctor, anything medical is really scary for me, please Mrs Watson, you have to understand.”

“And that is something else, I cannot have you calling me Mrs Watson all the time. My name is Suzanne, and you can call me that, or Auntie Suzanne, Mary calls me Mommy, and I think that is her special word, but you can use Mom, if you want to, as well. But I can’t just kidnap you from your own mother; I need to explain to her that you will be properly looked after here, and you will be finishing your school career. As for the doctor, please do it for me. Mary and I will come with you and hold your hand if you want. But you really scared me when I got you drunk, and then when you collapsed with exhaustion the next day; that is not normal behaviour for an 18 year old girl.”

“Yes,” I replied with my automated answer, “but I am not normal”

“No, you are not normal, at all Ann, you are very, very special and because of that Mary and I want you to join our little family. I know life hasn’t been easy for you, and the little bits you have let slip about your childhood and life at home breaks my heart. But let’s do all this properly, and if my doctor finds something simple that can help you then why not give it a try? I completely understand if you rule out any future surgeries or major interventions, but maybe you just need a multivitamin boost? But for Mary’s sake, we need to make sure that you have had all your childhood immunisations and the like, so please let us do this for Mary’s sake and safety?”

“OK, you win, as you know I can’t do anything that could affect Mary. I love her, and you, so much, thank you.” With that we hugged and waited for Mary to wake up to tell her the news. In the meantime Mom asked is she could do my hair for me. By now she knew it was my weakness. She asked how I wanted it doing.

“In bunches, with ribbons, like my sister, please”

I honestly don’t know if she ever actually managed to speak to my mother, at that time, but I do know she tried.

The visit to the doctor was as horrible as I feared it would be. I had to answer a whole load of personal questions, but she had managed to get hold of my medical records. That gave the medical details of the many operations I had been put through. Mom and Mary stayed with me for most of it, until the horrid physical examination, where I had to allow this strange woman to touch me pressing here and there, and using different things to look right inside of me, all the time under the watchful eye of her nurse, who had that typical patronising look and eyes full of sympathy as I had to expose different parts of my deformed body. I needed to have a couple of injections and was given a prescription for 2 lots of different pills, but my mind had already closed them out, and I was not listening to what they were saying anymore. I just wanted to get out of the doctors rooms and to get home. I only was informed sometime later, that the doctor had diagnosed that I was actually suffering from malnutrition and she would have assumed anorexia (which would come later in my life, anyway) had she not been informed about the childhood I had been subjected to. A fairly strict diet of lots of fruit and vegetables and a lot of roughage was suggested, and Mrs Watson went to town making wonderful meals for me, and then making sure I ate everything up.

But our life at home became a wonderful routine. I got a brand new school uniform to wear, for the first time ever. Even though I only had half a year to go. I arrived at school each morning looking immaculate, from well brushed hair into a ponytail down to shiny shoes. I would get up early in the morning and get dressed in my smart uniform, with a clean blouse, and clean underwear each morning. Then I would get Mary up and we would all have breakfast together. A strict diet with lots of fruit, vegetables and roughage had been worked out for me, and Mary and I each had to have clean bowls by the end of each meal. Mary would waive me off to school each morning and welcome me home in the afternoon. Afternoons were playtime, and fun. Then an evening meal, usually cooked by Mom, but she was teaching me how to cook too (something which five years of home economics had never been able to do), then usually I would give Mary a bath and read to her until she fell asleep while Mom loaded the dishwasher, and cleaned up any mess from our playing.

Then after Mary had been put down asleep, I would do homework and then we would talk and talk. We talked about sex and relationships and all the stuff that, at that stage I knew nothing about and had no one else in my life I could turn to to provide me with answers. She quite openly admitted that she was bisexual, which I remember I found shocking at the time, as the society we lived in then was quite conservative and certainly didn’t approve of anything other than straight relationships, even sex outside of marriage was viewed in a dim light. But Mrs Watson was so different to anyone I had ever met; she told me intimate details of different relationships and flings that she had enjoyed with different people, male and female, black and white, gay and straight, and everything in between those. She told me about some of the different cities that she had visited over the years, and we even began planning a possible trip to the USA for us in the next year.

Evenings were such special times. We got to have some really serious conversations about all manner of things. I learned to pay an interest in politics, which especially in a young democracy like South Africa, is really important. But sometimes we would just watch movies together. Even then Mom was willing to always answer a barrage of questions from me about the movie, or the location, as it seemed to me that she had visited so many places around the World. We would also sometimes watch really scary horror movies, which I had never done before. Watching horror movies was good and bad. Bad, because I used to get really scared at times, good because we would usually watch them curled up together on the sofa, with me spooning into her, and her arms wrapped around me to keep me safe. But I would often hide behind her arms and only come out when I was told it was safe to do so! But I was constantly being told off for biting my fingernails (something I still do!).

“Ann, please don’t bite your nails; it is not a good habit, and you know how Mary copies everything you do.” sighed Auntie Suzanne. I stopped and wiped the offending, wet finger on my blouse. “Oh, yuck Ann! That is so unhygienic” But I was also rewarded with a little squeeze too, as by now she knew I would take everything she said to heart. But a few minutes later, “Ann!” as I gnawed at the edge of a stubborn nail. This must have continued for a while through the movie. At one stage Auntie Suzanne excused herself to go to the toilet, and she picked up one of Mary’s sterilised pacifiers on the way back. Of course, I was busy nibbling at a finger nail, when she returned, and before I could react, my finger was removed and replaced with a pacifier.

“There! Now keep that in to the end of the movie, and I shall not have to be disturbed with you constantly with different fingers in your mouth tearing your poor nails to shreds!” I don’t know if this was meant as a joke or a dare, but I think she was initially quite surprised that I didn’t immediately spit it out, or object. I just curled back up on the sofa, with her as my backrest. From then on if I was caught chewing my nails through a movie, I was sent to get a pacifier. I found it strangely relaxing…and really pleasant, especially if this was combined with being able to feel her body heat behind me and her arms around me…I felt so safe, so protected. If she then began to run her fingers through my hair, then I would purr like a cat with such exquisite pleasure.

She was also able to re-start her own social life, as she was comfortable leaving Mary with me. We even had some dinner parties at home, and more than once extra time was taken to make me look extremely sophisticated as it wasn’t just one potential lover coming over for the meal, but two! Clearly the different people were very carefully chosen and I am sure were also given a lot of details and explanation about me. Although I would spend the entire evening blushing, I did enjoy the couple of passes that were made by different people, and although nothing more ‘romantic’ for me happened more than a kiss on the lips, I did enjoy the attention too. But it did feel quite foreign to me having to dress up and wear makeup and be treated like an adult. I preferred to listen to their conversations. Often they were former colleagues from the airline, and they spent much time gossiping about other people that they knew, but of course I had no knowledge of. I was also really careful not to drink too much, but always had a wine in front of me, along with a glass of water, but would drink much more water than wine.

I did begin to question my own sexuality too. I was certainly still a virgin, and had no experience at all with either sex, but slowly came to the realisation that I was gay, although I would agree with Mom now, and call myself bisexual, and I really believe most people are to an extent.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 5, 2021 at 12:25 PM
Content:

BelGeorge said:

@babyann, This is a beautiful story, beautifully written, and I can't wait to see what's next.

[End of quote]

Thank you for that really nice comment. It feels good to get this story down.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 5, 2021 at 12:51 PM
Content:

tam1623 said:

Great story babyann, really enjoying it

[End of quote]

Thank you Tam, it is so nice to get such sweet comments!

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 6, 2021 at 9:17 AM
Content:

RainbowConnection said:

This is a fantastic, beautiful story, captivating and really inspiring and bittersweet (the only good kind of story). I am glad you are doing much better now, though I am both intrigued and a bit scared to learn how this particular story ends, since you have hinted that it doesn't last. Nothing ever does, the good and the bad, but I suppose the impermanence of everything in life is what makes storytelling have any meaning at all.

To quote Snufkin in Tales from Moominvalley,

"'It's the right evening for a tune,' Snufkin thought. A new tune, one part expectation, two parts spring sadness, and for the rest, just the great delight of walking alone and liking it."

If life is a song, than thank you for singing yours to us. I look forward to reading the rest.

[End of quote]

it is and was beautiful. It was a special time which was so important in my life. I don’t know whether to stop posting before it gets really sad, or whether I owe it to the people involved to account the full story. perhaps I will do a short post, but put plenty of warnings at the start. Certainly I went very quickly from the absolute happiest in my life to the very worst and I was in awful states of depression and despair for several years. In fact it was that period of my life which has stopped me ever talking about this portion of my life, to anyone, until very recently. I did manage to recount it all, reading from my diaries to my Mommy, and She encouraged me to write it all down and to let other people know about these wonderful people, who rescued me, and taught me what love and affection really is. So if it is a song, then this is the happy bit of the song, the bit you want everyone to join in with, tapping their feet and singing along. Mary & Suzanne (not their real names, as I don’t have their permission) own large parts of my heart still, and I still love them both to pieces.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 6, 2021 at 5:18 PM
Content: Chapter 9: Painting our way

One afternoon Mary and I had been left alone, but we were expecting Mrs Watson home in time for supper. So I decided that it was about time that the fridge door looked like all the other fridge doors I knew in houses where there were young children. In all of those, there were pictures and paintings done by the children, proudly on show on the door. So I carefully prepared by putting lots and lots of old newspapers down on the grass outside, and I had secretly bought some finger paints recently precisely for this moment. I even dressed Mary and myself in old clothing as I had a good idea of how much mess we were about to make. The newspaper and the various sheets of plain paper were then held down with little stones and the like from the garden. First of all we did some hand prints, and I painted Mary’s hands and we pressed them to the paper leaving a unique record of her behind, by putting the paint in stripes across her hands we could get rainbow hands too, which caused Mary to squeal with joy at what she had produced. Foot prints were also a lot of fun, as the paint brush would tickle her feet in the process. I held her up as she placed her foot prints all over many sheets of paper. We tried flicking and splashing different colours across the sheets, and sometimes just made muddy puddles mixing them all together in one place. We had paint absolutely everywhere when we had finished; in our hair, all over our arms and legs, in our faces. So we allowed everything to dry outside while I gave Mary an early bath, which also allowed me to get the worst of the paint off me too. We then carefully collected our artwork and put all the rest of the evidence in the bin. Then I attached all the paintings to the fridge, to Mary’s absolute delight. We then agreed that we would not say anything but we would let Mommy find it all by herself.

Of course that plan lasted less than half a second. As, soon as we heard the front door being opened, Mary squealed,

“Mommy! Mommy! Mary paint feet, Mary paint feet! Mommy look now!” With that announcement the masterpieces were viewed. I really don’t know who had the most enjoyment that day. Mary was clearly so very proud of her multicoloured hand and foot prints and had to show her Mommy in detail how she did it, in case there was any confusion. Her Mommy was so delighted and surprised with the new fridge door, as she had also witnessed other, similar art exhibitions in other homes, but had never thought that Mary would be able to produce such masterpieces for her. She did say that I should also have done a painting for her, as I was also part of the family, but I was happy to point out that my fingerprints were also in evidence as so much paint had been spread about. But I was also so happy that I had managed to help Mary and get the paints in the first place. And I was especially happy to be called a member of the family.

Our lives continued in this wonderful way as the year slowly revolved around to my final exams at school. There was just the one awful hiccup along the way.

This next bit is difficult for me to write, and it will probably sound strange or even unbelievable to many people. You don’t have to believe any of it, but I do think it will help you understand me, and why I reacted in the way that did. I felt this way for many years, and it was only when I received psychological help recently, that I managed to fix that bit of my brain, and was slowly convinced that the way that I had all ways thought, and viewed, myself was fundamentally wrong. For many, many years I rejected different offers and suggestions of psychological help. I was too nervous, or too proud, or too stupid, to address any of my mental health issues. If anyone is reading this in a similar situation, please, please, please look after your own mental health. I didn’t and paid very dearly for it over the years, with all manner of issues, and broken relationships leading from those issues. Yes, I was dealt an awful hand from birth, but you don’t have to be stuck with all of those cards. Getting help with your mental health is like being gifted new cards! You get to find out things that you never questioned were always untrue, and actually there are some inner strengths and reserves that you never knew you had lurking in there. I am now not ashamed to admit that I have needed a lot of help with my mental health, and have had, and still need, anti-depressants in order to give my mind the correct chemical balance.

I had never experienced such happiness in all my life; it was magical. But there was a part of my brain that was sending out warning messages. It sounds strange, even to me, now, but for the largest part of my life I believed, and had always been told, that I was cursed, or I carried a jinx or something. Right from the outset, I was led to believe that it was my fault that I had been born disabled. That I caused my biological father to disappear from the family a few months after my birth, because he couldn’t face life with a disabled child in the house. Of course, now, I can see how foolish that is; how can someone be held responsible for their own disability, or how a baby can scare a grown man out of his own house. But my biological mother clearly had her own demons to fight, and her own mental health issues, and the only thing she did to challenge those issues was to drink. I do now believe that alcohol as a drug is quite unsuitable for some people. My mother was one of those. Alcohol made her a mean spirited, nasty person. She would never accept any responsibility herself, but constantly blame others for her own life. In the end alcohol killed her too, but that was some years and many wine boxes away.

In my country I was what was known as a ‘laat lammetjie’. The literal translation into English from Afrikaans is late lamb, and it is the description given to any child that arrives many years after any other siblings. There are nearly 16 years to my one brother and 18 to the next. So I don’t really have any memories of them living at the home. There was never any sort of bond between us, and we have grown up to be quite different people. My two brothers remain quite close to one another, but any small relationship that there may have been to me has disappeared. My biological family were what would now be described in South Africa as “poor white Afrikaaners”. The language spoken in that house was Afrikaans, a language that many people associate with the Apartheid regime that ruled here until the 1990’s. Languages as important here, and we have 12 official languages. Languages have become important to me too, and because I also associate Afrikaans to a bad period in my own life, I no longer speak it. Even my actual name is an Afrikaans one; Annelie, but I choose the English version, Ann.

So this wonderful life I had, I ‘knew’ was too good. I knew it could not last. I knew I would jinx it. I have always been small, and my mother used to constantly say “bad things come in small packages, like poison”. That was said to me so often as a child, that even up until quite recently, I viewed myself as poison. Somehow I would always be the root cause of any problem; it was always my fault. It does sound quite foolish stating it like that, but I really believed it with every fibre of my being. So this little part of my brain was just waiting for this wonderful dream to be smashed into pieces. What was actually smashed were both my wrists.

The next few chapters have been more difficult for me to write, for many different reasons. But I am in the process of editing them now. But I will put a warning here, as well as the start of the next few chapters that there may be some more triggers for certain people. There are for me, and each chapter has become more difficult to write. Hopefully you will understand this as you read through them, should you choose to. But if you might become triggered then please stop reading this story here; I don’t want to make people unhappy. Indeed I want this to be a truly uplifting story as that chapter in my life was for me at that time. And, as I said before, I wanted this chronicled somewhere. I have written the final bits, and am in the process of editing it. It has been a really strange experience to write this. Mostly good, but there have been a lot of nostalgic tears too. Few more tears to go before I finish. But I think this begins to describe me, and explains some of my journey to this point.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 6, 2021 at 8:07 PM
Content:

Jay1965 said:

Although I might have an idea where this is going and the story so far developed like a fairytale, I will try to continue reading.

I liked it thus far and I know life isn’t all sunshine and roses.

I think you are very brave willing to share your story and it might even be helpful for you to give it a place in your life.

Thank you for it all…

[End of quote]

I had no idea at the time where this was going. I was so, so happy I wanted the moments to last forever. I went from being in the perfect place, to having a drug habit, couch surfing, with a raging eating disorder, and self-harming in a very short space of time. I blamed myself for everything which went wrong. I was poison. I still believed that 2 years ago…when another special lady in my life, swept me off my feet, got me clean, and got me to properly address and confront my mental health issues. This story is for Her too. I have told Her bits before, but she reads chapters before I post them here. She never comments, one way or another. But she does encourage me to keep going, and keep writing it, even when She sees the process opening some old wounds. I had once admitted to Her that I had never told anyone about this time in my life. The bad bits that followed made it impossible, and I could not even open all my diaries and journals from that time. I gave Her one to read a while ago, and after She had read it, She said that I needed to write their story. I am the only person that could breathe life into those memories. I didn’t feel I could, but Mommy pointed out that if I didn’t, then no one would ever know. Several nights I have had to Skype her in tears as I felt it was too hard to do, and the wounds were still too deep. But She is also very wise; She asked me if the wounds were ever likely to get any shallower (of course not), then that cannot be a reason not to write it now. She asked if I would ever get over these periods in my life, (no, never) so that is no reason not to write it down now. She asked me if I wanted Her and others to know this about me, and would it go some way to explaining why I am the way that I am? (Yes). The fact it hurts me is because I loved them with all my heart, so that is a ‘good’ hurt. She wants to understand me better. She calls me her Desert Rose, because, like a desert flower, I appear quite fragile and delicate, but I can’t be, because the fact I am here means I survived the desert, conditions which would kill most flowers. I only see my own fragility, but I must discover the steel underneath.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 6, 2021 at 8:18 PM
Content:

kerry said:

This is a special and beautiful (and apparently soon, rather heartbreaking) story, Ann. I read and have read a whole lot of ABDL stories over the years, but I have rarely read one as moving as this one. I'm not looking forward to the dark stuff, but I do believe as you do that it is important to relate. I wish I could know you irl; I have rarely thought that, too.)

[End of quote]

Kerry, thank you. It would be nice to meet you too…although what these pages don’t show is completely me…I remain intensely shy and awkward in most social events (i do think I have some level of autism!!). So any meeting would be a severe letdown as you would be lucky to get much more than a whimper from me at the first meeting. The company I work for employed 22 people and I knew the owner and his family before (which is why I got the job!), but I was emptying my stomach in the toilets 10 minutes before I was first introduced to the staff members!! I still haven’t finally decided to post the final chapter, because it is just too sad, and will only upset everyone (including me!!). It is the chapter I can’t finish at the moment. i just don’t feel there is much to be gained by posting that here, other than stopping the obvious question, why that life did not continue.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 6, 2021 at 8:27 PM
Content:

RainbowConnection said:

This, right here. I can really relate to this, though perhaps for different reasons. I have no physical disabilities, but mentally and emotionally I struggled for a long time. I was raised in a very religious household, and grew up believing many parts of me were "bad" or "corrupted." I struggled with a black-and-white mindset -- still do. I believed I wasn't human. I was a monster. Certain things seemed to affirm that, but a lot of it may have been my own doing, pushing others away, etc. I believed I was responsible for my father leaving us. And that's before everything that happened durin my high school years.

But I'm doing better now. I'm getting therapy for my intrusive thoughts and fears. Your story means a lot to me. Thank you for writing it, and though I know what is coming next is going to pull at me, I know I am going to read it. Until then, please take care, internet neighbor.

[End of quote]

Thank you, your comments are really sweet. I am pleased too that you are doing better and also getting some help and therapy. but to be honest, I have been worried that this might not help people like you; I was just as you describe, not human. But I was poison, not a monster, because poison poisons everything. when a friend had a miscarriage, it was MY fault. When another friend had a car crash in another town that was also my fault. When Mandela died? That was me too!! It sounds so silly now, but I was absolutely convinced it was me. Please don’t feel you must read to the end…I fear the quality is slipping as it gets to more difficult bits, and I am not even sure I can or will post the final pieces. People now know how wonderful and special Mary and Suzanne were, and what they represented in my life, that is all I wanted to do.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 7, 2021 at 4:33 AM
Content:

RainbowConnection said:

No, no -- I want to read until the end. Your story deserves that. Sometimes I look into my mind and see a Great Poison, often invisible, but there. There is a figure there. I call him the ShadowWalker. I don't know how he got there, or what he truly is, but I know he stalks me. His power is complete when he's not perceived. But I've already beat him, because I know he's there.

The people who fear poisoning others the most are often those who have been poisoned themselves. Those who suppress and deny that they have been poisoned are fated to become the monster who spreads it; but those who can identify it and stare it in the eyes know that it holds no real power over them anymore. I understand that fear, that you are the problem, that you are the poison. I lived in fear of becoming it; it's why I don't have any irl friends. I'm only now trying to figure out how to start again.

Don't worry about your story not "helping" people like me. It doesn't have to. All it needs to be is yours. Your story is sweet and sad, but it is also beautiful, because it is human. Stories like these remind us that we are human. So I would like to counter your argument; this story helps people like me a lot.

Despite anything else, finish the story you want to tell. Don't be scared of the negative emotions, and don't stop writing because you are afraid. Those feelings are really, really powerful, like a thunderous rainstorm. But, when viewed from inside a warm, cozy house, that same rainstorm can be quite beautiful. Don't stop writing because you don't know what words to say; "quality" is a meaningless word in this context. Only stop writing if you are not comfortable sharing.

You are very courageous to do all of this. If ever I am courageous enough to go back and willingly remember and write the painful parts of my life, I will remember you.

[End of quote]

Thank you. I need to acknowledge your kind words & your understanding. It has been a long night here. The last piece is really hard to do. I gave up in tears twice. It is a thunderstorm, and to write it I have to be in the eye of the storm. I might either not post it, or leave it for now, so I can complete it in Mommy’s house as I am too scared to try again when I am alone. Tonight even Mommy was crying on Skype, and She never cries. I had sent Her a partial draft up to where I cannot go further and She called me immediately as She was so worried about what this is doing to me. I have been safely in little space since then, but a scared little space which has never happened to me before. Not good. We have been speaking all night, it is 4:30am and She must be at work in 3 hours. I am going to sit with my teddy bear a bit longer so the nightmares won’t come.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 7, 2021 at 2:32 PM
Content: Thank you both. @RainbowConnection and @TheAbodge and indeed others. Your comments have been really warming and sweet. Last night, I hit a wall, and I ended up getting myself in a bad, scary place. There are other chapters that are nearly ready to put up here…but the last one, is too much for me, right now. i think I realised how vulnerable I still am about all this. I had thought, there was now enough distance, and that I was in a safer space…but it all came crashing down around me last night. I kept my poor Mommy up all night, and then I went to bed while She had to get up to go to work. i will polish the other chapters and put them up here, but I don’t know about the last bit. i am concerned that people are trying to join the dots…when they can’t. If people think they know what happens then they don’t. I know, the way I have introduced this, it is clear that it does not continue for ever and ever, and there is likely a sad end to this coming. But none of us knew that at the time…other than this awful premonition that as poison I was going to mess everything up for everyone. When things began to happen, I turned in on myself, ‘knowing‘ that I was to blame for all the ills in the world. I began to seriously self harm, to punish myself, and sank to suicidal levels. I then stayed, stuck in that dark place for quite a long time. I would push away any offer of friendship. Most people that knew me, just pitied me, and that was clear in their eyes. This went on for a long long time, and it was only when Mommy and I met that things began to change. I spent a lot of time and energy pushing Her away too, because i was going to poison her. But She would not be pushed away. She made sure I got some mental health help, and that I finally got the therapy I needed. She held me afterwards, and helped me pick up the pieces and put me back together. While She can have zero tolerance for bratty behaviour from little me, and will hand out punishments when deserved, but She can see through when it is not me being bratty, but when I need some help. I know I am not poison now, that good and bad things happen in the world, and for a lot of different events we have no control. But I also have learned to stop running away from the nice things, but to live them and enjoy them for what they are.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 7, 2021 at 3:10 PM
Content:

BelGeorge said:

Hi @babyann,

I haven't commented in a while, but I have read every chapter of your story, and I am curious to know how it continues.
However, you shouldn't post anything that you don't feel comfortable with.

If I remember correctly from your first post in this thread, your intention was to write a story starting with actual true events from your past and then move on to fiction as you would have liked to experience it.
That would be OK as well.

You don't have to post everything that happend to you, and please don't post anything here that you might regret later.

Also, I really liked the frequent updates that you posted until now. Many stories here are continued much slower, or never finished at all.
If you decide that you need more time before posting more chapters, that is fine as well.

[End of quote]

Actually everything I have written so far is as it happened (from my viewpoint). I am sure other people would have different recollections of the time. I have written most of the rest of the story already, and the fantasy bits haven’t come in. I will let people know when the fantasy starts, because I don’t want any false narratives to be thought of as true. But…the fantasies are important, to me. They were, they still are recurring fantasies of mine. Sort of how I wished certain events could have turned out…but didn’t for all manner of reasons. But at the time I remember wishing that they had. My diaries even record the fantasies. Well my diaries contain all sorts of fantasies, some nice, some very sexual, some violent, and many really nasty fantasies.

I have changed everyone’s names apart my own, because I don’t have any permission from them.

There are still lots and lots of really special times and memories that I need to share, that I want to be recorded down somewhere. But people are already trying to guess why it all stopped. It did all stop…I don’t think I can record that period here just yet. I thought I could. I thought I was now strong enough and there was enough distance, but found out the reality last night. I was not in a good place last night. I am all cried out now, and will recover and post some more bits later…but I the last pieces of the jigsaw will have to wait…maybe for ever, I don’t know right now.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 7, 2021 at 5:38 PM
Content:

RainbowConnection said:

You are very strong, Ann. Your Mommy sounds like a wonderful person, and I am very happy you two are together. I am glad she did not give up, even when you started pushing her away. Very few will be so patient to stay by your side like that. I know that. Perhaps that could be a story for another day, if you'd so wish. Please don't push yourself to share certain things if you're not ready. I only know what you have told us; no one but you can connect those dots, so please forgive me if I seemed like I was trying to assume things. I hope I can learn to stop running away from good things, too, someday. Thank you again, and please take care, internet neighbor.

[End of quote]

Thank you; you are very sweet, and thoughtful with your comments. They really help.

But in direct answer to some of your comments…
I am NOT strong at all!! I can be stubborn, but not strong. I know I am the sort of person that needs other people to help look after and protect me (often from myself). Mommy is a wonderful person, and I know I am so lucky that She refused to be pushed away. She made sure I finally got my mental health issues identified and She makes sure I keep with the treatment. She is amazingly patient and caring. I would love to share our story in detail here…but She is a very private person too, and I could only do it, if we wrote it together, but I also fear She doesn’t have the time right now.

sorry, my words came out wrong…I am not cross at people joining dots…it is a natural thing to do. I am sort of cross with myself, for creating the situation like this…perhaps I should have tried to start the story backwards, although no one would have ventured beyond the first lines if I had. Yes, it all ended very sadly, for everyone involved. But my intention in this attempt is to record what incredibly kind, loving, generous, pure souls both Mary and Suzanne were. A few people in my life, and I suppose some people local to that area are aware of the final facts, but no one (other than me) knows how wonderful they were. For too many years I could not even let myself think about them, let alone talk to anyone. Both my therapist and Mommy have encouraged me to talk about them, and be able to remember the good times fondly. i recently took out my old diaries (didn’t everyone keep a diary in the days before Facebook?), and managed to begin to read through them. I gave one diary to Mommy to read, because it explained much around the whole complex relationships. She read it in front of me. stopping only to hug and kiss me. Then the words just came tumbling out, like a dam had been breached. I felt I had to tell her everything, how She, and everyone, would have loved Suzanne and Mary. Suddenly I felt I owed a massive debt to them. Mommy and I discussed this, and She said I needed to write the story for them. I wasn’t sure at all, as I can’t really write too good (look at how Kerry had to really spend a lot of time helping me and correcting all my mistakes. Quite rightly my first stabs at writing were nearly deleted as being unreadable). But also that conversation happened before I found this site, and this place seemed to be the right ’home’. Certainly the sweet comments like yours confirm that thought.

I hope you do manage to kick the bad habit of running away from good things and good people too. There are plenty of bad people who I wish I had run from the moment they appeared. I am never, ever letting go of Mommy and She is not letting go of me either. The universe made us for each other, as we each fill very specific missing pieces in each other. We share a Yin Yang piece of jewelry which is absolutely perfect for our relationship. Only together are we fulfilled.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 7, 2021 at 6:25 PM
Content: So Mommy finally made it back from a long day at work, after I stopped Her from sleeping all last night, and I am in trouble because I was asleep when She tried to call me earlier to see how I was. So as part of my punishment(!) Mommy said I should post the screengrab she took of me last night with tears and snot running off my face!!

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 7, 2021 at 8:12 PM
Content: @RainbowConnection Mommy and I have just finished reading your message together…well I read it to Her over Skype!! I am still in trouble though! But we BOTH agree; we do have a very special relationship. I could not face these times without Her, although I think neither of us realised just how this process would effect me. I do think it is mostly good (Mommy says almost entirely good), but the last bit will only be attempted again when we are together.

right, I was given an option, and the outcome will surprise Mommy! But please be gentle with your comments - was not happy at the time…Mommy called it a real tizzy. Lots of tears and lots of snot.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 7, 2021 at 9:26 PM
Content:

sinceiwassmall said:

Some of the strongest people and the most giving people in this world are “wounded healers.” The wounds never go away — the harm from them and the risk of them — but a point comes when some of the overwhelming energy of those wounds is poured into understanding and loving and healing others.

I hope you can see yourself In the other two people in your story’s eyes — how much you, just as you were, transformed their very difficult lives in ways that were, for all that time, completely real.

[End of quote]

thank you. Your words are similar to what my Mommy has been telling me. I haven’t got myself there yet.

But, yes, I am and was aware of what each of us meant to one another. We each needed the other two in our lives. If there is just one lesson to be taken from that time, was something Suzanne was so good at. She never stopped repeating her love for us. Neither Mary nor I were in any doubt how much we meant to her. But she would repeat it over and over all day long. She was a great hugger and kisser too. When she hugged you, the whole world would pause, she would pull you in tight and squeeze for the longest time. Mary was similarly demonstrative with her love and affection. She would just hold out her arms at you, and your heart would immediately melt. She learned from her mother that hugs have to last the longest time. I try to do the same.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 8, 2021 at 12:04 PM
Content:

RainbowConnection said:

It is visible just how much this affected you. Yes, I believe waiting until you are together is a good decision. You two do have a very special relationship. The type of connection you two have is very rare and very beautiful. This kind of trial could only be done between two people who trust and love each other very much. It's so strange but wonderful to me, because I'm so used to being emotionally alone. It's partly why I'm so grateful that you're willing to share your story with us.

You are incredibly beautiful, by the way. I know the picture you shared with us wasn't you in your best moment, but it's also very human. I know you only shared it as part of your "punishment," but I still think it's a very courageous thing to do. Thank you for sharing with us, Ann.

[End of quote]

Thank you for your understanding. I just know I should not try to uncover the wounds on my own again. Mommy challenges me all the time, so I get in trouble for saying ”I can’t” or worse, “I won’t”, so i am not saying it certainly won’t be finished. But I think I need to know that sharing that last piece will do some good for someone. I don’t think it will. It could trigger people including me, for no real benefit.

I am NOT beautiful at all. I am gawky and I have bad skin and lank hair. At best I am forgettable! I walk like a drunk, and I still bite my nails unless I wear a pacifier.

kerry said:

I don't think I have ever come across anything quite like this thread. It is both a poignant story and a therapy session that pulls the readers into the session with you. I have never before read a thread in which there is as much thought, tension, emotion, and power both in the story and in the posts between chapters. And your openness and sincerity have the effect of quickly pulling your readers into a place where they feel a part of both what has happened in your past and what is happening now. As hard as that can be (from both sides) it is an intense connection, especially for an inexperienced writer to forge. By the way, I completely understand that you don't see yourself as strong. When I transitioned (becoming the first openly trans teacher in the US), everyone called me "brave." I knew I wasn't, though: I was only doing what I had to do. What I did not know or comprehend then was that both things can be true at the same time. Trust me: in all the ways that count, no matter what has come before, you are brave to write and post this story and share yourself so honestly with strangers.

[End of quote]

@kerry I knew you were a teacher!! Thank you so much for your kind, kind words, although I do feel you are overstating my abilities. What has been remarkable has been the warm reaction, to what is in many ways is a mundane story. Could almost be summed up “sad 18 year old girl leaves home to find happiness elsewhere”.

But also, wow! First openly trans teacher in the US! That makes you even more amazing in my eyes! That makes you more important in my eyes than the first astronaut in space!! You really boldly went where no one had gone before!! All the children that you teach and have taught are so fortunate. You cannot possibly compare what I am doing here to that fabulous achievement. Yes, this is a sort of therapy session for me, and that is sort of the point. I want the world to know about these two very special people, who between them did not have a single bad bone in their bodies. I needed their history recorded somewhere, because they should not be forgotten. There is a line, from one of my most favourite films of all time, Bladerunner, which I don’t want to be true in this case, when Rutger Hauer’s character dies after rescuing Harrison Ford. He gives a monologue, which makes me cry without fail, even though I must have watched the film too many times for my own good. He says “…all these moments in time…lost…like tears in rain…”. I can’t even write it without crying!! But I could not have even got this far without the wonderful, warm, caring, sensitive support that I have got from you, and many other kind, caring people here. Thank you is not enough, but I am eternally grateful to you, and others here, for helping these moments in time not be lost like tears in rain…and off I go again!

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 8, 2021 at 2:59 PM
Content: I have to share this here, with my new friends. My Mommy sends me little messages and quotes all through each day to help me make it through them. This one I am sure she sent because of the kind words I have received here.

“The highest form of knowledge is Empathy, for it requires us to suspend our ego’s and to live in another’s World”
- Plato

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 8, 2021 at 4:13 PM
Content: Chapter 10: Broken Wrists

To this day, I don’t know whether I fell or was pushed. Some time later someone from the school told me that it was a push. Looking back it could have been either, but even if I was pushed, I don’t think that anyone intended to cause the injuries as they happened.

The actual events are still a bit of a blur for me, even after trying to piece it all together by talking to different people who witnessed it all at the time. Basically there was a long flight of stairs at the school and somehow I fell, or was pushed down them. I must have put both my arms out in an effort to break my fall, but ended up instead breaking both my wrists. I have met other people who have sustained similar injuries by falling off a motorbike, so it is not so uncommon. It was though, really, really painful. I can’t actually remember the pain, but I do remember sitting at the bottom of the stairs howling with both arms held out in front of me, terrified, as my hands were at strange angles to my arms. My next memory was sitting in the school secretary’s office waiting for the ambulance, while a teacher held both my arms, and tried to stop me from looking at the damage. Then I remember odd bits in the hospital. I don’t remember the ambulance ride in, although I was apparently conscious the whole time. There were X-rays and then I do remember them cutting my blouse off me, rather than trying to feed each hand through my sleeves.

My next proper memory was waking up in a room on my own with a nurse stood over me, asking strange questions that I didn’t know any of the answers to. I was completely wrapped up in a blanket under a duvet and both my arms were fixed inside huge bandages, which also contained splints. There were tubes feeding liquids into my arm, as I could see them leading to, and disappearing under, all the many bandages. I also found out later that there were more tubes taking fluids out of me and into a bag hung to the side of the bed. I wasn’t in any pain, but I was absolutely terrified. I already had an aversion to hospitals, and yet here I was trapped inside one, with no clear knowledge of how I had got there or what had happened to me. I didn’t want to answer any of the questions, I just didn’t want to be there. I do remember the nurses holding my arms down as I tried to use them to brush the tubes off me, and to try to extricate my arms from all these heavy strange bandages. That only made matters worse for me, and the panic just mounted as these strange nurses held me down, shouting at me. I can only imagine that they just kept sedating me, as this sort of thing seemed to carry on for some time, although somehow the surroundings changed, and it dawned on me at one point that I was no longer in a room on my own, but it had changed into a ‘normal’ hospital ward, with a line of beds. I do remember that they kept pulling the curtains closed, presumably because I would have been upsetting other patients, but at the time, it only intensified the panics. Auntie Suzanne told me later that it was actually 2 days later that she first managed to talk to me. She had been in to see me the day before, but I had been asleep / unconscious / drugged.

“Please get me out of here, please take me home with you, please, please” I begged with a croaky voice. By then the pain from my wrists had started first as a dull pressure, but it had increased steadily and now felt like hot knives were being inserted into each wrist. I was desperate to escape the torture and to be removed from this nightmare.

Auntie Suzanne tried to reason with me, but without success, “hush Ann, you are in the best place for you. I will make sure they take good care of you. Oh, Ann, please stop crying, you are upsetting Mary.” Only then I noticed the small bundle gripping her mother tightly, but looking at me with the saddest, biggest eyes I had ever seen. I felt so guilty causing such torment and unhappiness in such a sweet, innocent, wonderful Mary, but I could not control my crying.

“Please just take me home, and I promise I will stop. Please don’t leave me here, please don’t make me stay here. I want to go home with you. Please, please, please” I begged with all my resolve. Auntie Suzanne tried hugging me, but it was impossible with all the tubes and pipes attached to me, and Mary attached to Auntie Suzanne. She later admitted to me that when she walked out of the ward with my pitiful screams at her back was the worst that she had ever felt. But she had to remove Mary from that situation, and I understand that now, but at the time, I really thought I was being left. Mary was quite traumatised too by all of this, but Suzanne managed to first calm her down, and then very bravely left Mary in the care of a nurse, and returned to my bedside. Again the attempts at hugging were not really successful, but just the touch on her hands on my face had a massive calming influence on me.

“Ann, we will never leave you. I will speak to the surgeon and to the nurses and we will get you out of here as soon as we can, I promise, Angel. But you need to be brave for me and Mary. Mary gets so scared when she sees you like this, and we can’t let that happen, OK? I will do everything I can to get you home, but you have to promise me that you will control yourself, especially in front of Mary, OK?” She quietly implored me as she gently stroked my face and hair.

I gulped and summoned up all my remaining courage, “I am so sorry. I didn’t want to scare Mary. I just want to go home. But I won’t scare Mary like that again, I promise.”

“Thank you, Ann, my little warrior. I know you can be incredibly brave, and you are so good at putting a brave face on normally, but I also know and understand why you have problems with a place like this. I will go now and track down the doctors and surgeons and find out when we can get you home, sweetheart. But please be brave for me and Mary until then”

I nodded and watched as she rushed out of the ward looking back at me, and trying to give me a smile as she left. I must have drifted off to sleep again, as I was being pumped full of different drugs, but I woke up to Auntie Suzanne gently stroking my hair, as I opened my eyes, the first things I saw were Mary’s huge eyes, full of concern and fear.

“Shh…see, Mary, Ann is OK now, she has hurt her arms but the doctors are making her better” Suzanne whispered to us both, “but we must let her sleep now to help make her better”

“Hello Mary” I croaked, “I didn’t mean to scare you, and I am sorry”

Mary held her arms out to me, but I was unable to respond, so her mother brought her in close so she could kiss my nose.

“Please get better Ann. Please don’t cry. Mommy make it better” she intoned seriously, her face millimetres from my own.

“I won’t cry anymore,” I promised, “and I am sorry. Yes, Mommy always makes it better”

Auntie Suzanne then began to speak seriously to me “Ann, you have broken several bones in each wrist, and the surgeons had to operate and they had to put some screws in to hold everything together so it can set right. You have been incredibly brave. I had been so worried when you never returned from school, so I phoned them to find out what was going on. They must keep you here for a little bit longer because they cannot allow you to go home while you still have an IV drip and a catheter. They need to give you some really strong painkillers and they have to monitor you closely for a little bit longer. But I promise you, we will get you home just as soon as we can.” We will come and see you as often as we can, and we will bring you whatever you need.

And so my nightmare existence at the hospital began. The only high points were when Mary and her mother came to visit, and I managed to hold myself mostly together each time, but was incredibly sad each time I was left. Auntie Suzanne told me later that she had phoned my mother, and much later one of my brothers confirmed that he had been there on a rare visit and he had actually taken the call. He didn’t have chance to call into the hospital to see me as he didn’t have the time, but he did inform my mother, who apparently suggested that I was probably just doing this a stunt to attract attention. The drugs that they gave me were quite effective at numbing the pain, but it was difficult and embarrassing to have to get the injection. With my arms in splints, all I could do was lie, or sit very reclined, and I would be rolled onto my side, my nightie would be pulled up and I would feel a sharp jab in one cheek or the other. Very shortly after that, I would feel the warmth of the drug as it rushed around my body, and I would generally enjoy a few moments of intense relief before slipping off into a dream packed sleep. This experience would later be repeated, many times, but with other, illegal drugs, but that was still more than a lifetime away. Eventually I would wake up, try to eat and drink something as the dull pain would return, and then wait for the cycle to repeat. Sometimes to break the monotony I would be given bed baths and even rubbed on my back and buttocks to avoid getting sore. But I am afraid I viewed all the nurses and doctors suspiciously and never really engaged with them in any sort of conversation. I did find the whole time in hospital really unpleasant, and incredibly boring. I could not even hold a book or a magazine to read, and I was too shy to engage with any of the patients in the beds next to my own.

I don’t know exactly how long that continued. But I do remember the end. Each day, I would ask whoever was in charge of the procedure of bathing or injecting, when I would be able to go home, finally one of them admitted that there was no way I could be allowed to go while I was still catheterised and had a drip in my arm. So I immediately asked them to remove both. I kept on insisting that they HAD to remove both. They told me that I needed the drip as the drugs that they gave me had to be given that way, but I just demanded their removal, and asked if they could not find another drug that could be given to me in pill form. I think my constant badgering made them give in in the end. The removal of the catheter was a bit embarrassing, and not at all painful but an odd experience, as I could feel it inside my bladder, and it made me feel like I had to wee all the time, but in reality, I never had to wee at all, but it just flowed down the catheter. To remove it they had to deflate a balloon part which was holding it in my bladder with a little syringe. I could feel it deflate, and then I felt it slowly being removed, which sort of felt like I was weeing on myself, when I actually wasn’t. But it was a strange feeling which sent a shiver through me. It was a feeling that I sort of made a note of, that I would like to experience that again, but not in a hospital environment. Finally some of the bandages were rolled down and the needle which was going into the vein in my arm was removed along with what seemed to be a huge amount of bandages which had a sticky backing to them, and they were all carefully peeled off me.

I found out that the pills were no way near as effective as pain relief, and the immediate throbbing from my wrists made sleeping impossible. Plus, I found the pills made me quite nauseous, so I couldn’t eat either. But I would have done anything to get home. Everyone around me knew this was my one goal, and I would not be distracted from it. If a surgeon came to check on me, my very first question was to ask if could go home yet. The same to any doctor or nurse that came close. And also repeated to Auntie Suzanne on each visit. I would just lie to everyone about the pain I was in, as I needed to escape.

Finally they relented, and they let me and Suzanne know that she could take me home, but warned that I would need a lot of attention. Having both arms in splints meant that I could do nothing for myself. I had to be dressed, and fed. I could drink through a straw if the drink was placed on a surface close to me. Even going to the loo meant someone had to assist me, lift my nightie, help me onto the toilet, and then wipe me afterwards. But I would rather Auntie Suzanne did that rather than any of the unknown nurses.

Auntie Suzanne brought a couple of options of clothing depending what was easiest to get in me, and we finally decided on just the sundress and some knickers. I didn’t care, and would have walked out naked, if only to get home. I was placed on the back seat of the car, in my spot, next to Mary in her special seat. The seatbelt carefully routed to not press on my wrists or arms at all. Mary laughed and gurgled with delight all the way home, and I tried to keep the smile on my face from turning into a grimace, as I could see that Auntie Suzanne was watching me carefully with huge concern etched across her face.

Once home I was instructed to wait while Mary was placed in her stroller and then I was helped into the house, by Auntie Suzanne putting her arm around my waist and the other arm pushing the stroller. Auntie Suzanne was clearly concerned that I could easily fall over as my CP was becoming pretty evident with the strain of the last few days and the immediate stress of getting home. I was beginning to shake a bit by the time I was gently placed on the sofa in the sun. Mary stayed in her stroller as we all exhaled with relief and planned the next steps.

“Ann, first of all, you must not worry. All you need to do is to rest and get better, OK” Auntie Suzanne seriously informed me, “Mary and I will look after you for once, won’t we Mary?” Mary clapped her hands and nodded her head in agreement from her stroller. “We will work out how to get everything done together, won’t we? Ann, you will just have to let me treat you like Mary for a bit until you can do these things on your own again. So don’t be embarrassed or feel you are a burden in any way. I am going to enjoy looking after my two girls. I shall treat you as first class passengers…but without the champagne!” We all laughed at that memory. “Now how about some nice juice and biscuits?”

“Joooooose!” beamed Mary, tensing her whole body in excitement.

“Biscuits”

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 9, 2021 at 9:29 AM
Content:

kerry said:

I love the fact that you instinctively toss in something sweet and light in the middle of such darkness.

[End of quote]

I love the fact that you instinctively encourage me with your comments!!

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 9, 2021 at 9:55 AM
Content:

RainbowConnection said:

Quit doing that. I know what I mean when I say the things I do; you can't tell me I what I should have said or thought. I understand the tendency to believe otherwise, though. I mean, personally, I often think I look like a dumpy frog. But sometimes we have to look carefully at ourselves, from different perspectives, and say, "yes, I see me in the mirror today." And if we can see ourselves, then we can begin to believe that we are beautiful, just the way we are. When I first saw that picture, I saw you, just the way you are; and I said you are beautiful, because I meant it. I don't have to guess to know your partner finds you absolutely beautiful; the challenge now is to believe that you are, yourself. I think it's a challenge most of us share.

[End of quote]

Oooo!! This is like an ongoing argument that Mommy and I have. She calls me pretty, and I stamp my feet and pout and tell Her “I am NOT pretty”. The end result of the ensuing argument is that I upset Mommy, and I get a smack, and we both leave the situation feeling worse. So now She has challenged me to respond nicely to you and to try to explain myself in a way that does not offend or in any way shift the blame onto you, as you did make a nice, and very reasoned response. So…thank you for your nice and reasoned response, and you are completely right in everything you say…but (and yes, this is really becoming a therapy session now…wait until what I have got to tell you what my therapist told me…I will put it in a separate reply). But…I am certainly no model, and I don’t have the sort of looks or figure that turns heads…well some people do stare, but not because of beauty reasons, they rather look to see if I am drunk, or why I am leaning over a bit. Also I have spent most of my life being called everything but beautiful or pretty, and then when people (not meaning you, or Mommy or Suzanne) started to call me beautiful it was often a precursor to some horrible thing they wanted me to do for them or even to them…. If you live in a drug den and a big smelly man comes in calling you beautiful, then you just know he is going to do something to you. But that is my history and I should not let it impact on other nice people around me. I have tried looking in the mirror, and I will admit that Mommy (who is a fabulous photographer) has taken some nice photos of me. Although the really nice ones don’t look like me at all…. So what I am trying to say is thank you for kind words, and I am sorry for my response.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 9, 2021 at 3:26 PM
Content:

RainbowConnection said:

I understand. Thank you for explaining your response to me -- it now makes sense why you might have aversions to compliments like the ones I gave you. But to respond to the first bit of your response, most of us, even the ones who are "typical," aren't models. I understand that you have certain conditions that others will not understand or may find unappealing. But I come from a place where beauty is not exclusive or something earned, but something realized. I share the philosophy of Mister Fred Rogers. No matter who he was talking to, he showed the utmost respect to them -- more than that. It's difficult to describe in words, so please allow me to link a short video that shows you what I mean. I will link it here:




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And please don't ever apologize for something like that. I promise it's not necessary -- you've done no wrong by me. I understand your position now, and I know that it will take time before these words lose their other, sinister meanings. But I do think you are beautiful, inside and out. Those pictures Mommy takes of you? They are you, even the ones you think don't look like you. It's looking at yourself from a new perspective. And as Mister Rogers would say, "it's you I like, just the way you are."

"You make each day a special day, just by your being you."

It's not easy to understand why someone might find us beautiful, especially when the words have been twisted by others or constantly used in a setting that only defines the words on a surface level. But true beauty is like a sunset; those who slow down to admire it will see all of its colors, and those who sit long enough will realize that behind the sky, lies the stars.

[End of quote]

Your reply was so sweet and thoughtful I am covered in tears and snot again. Like Mommy, you explain that beauty is not skin deep. I know I am damaged goods, and I have a whole load of baggage and issues that I am slowly learning to drop and be rid of. I have never heard of this Mister Rogers but he seems to have been an amazing person, and I think his philosophy is wonderful. I try to live by a simple mantra; be kind. I am learning not to be so suspicious of people or their motives. You didn’t know, but your kind response has saved me from another punishment!! But Mommy wants me to share another photo of me, that I do like, and will admit She managed to catch me just right, so I do look pretty. Mommy has it framed on Her bedside table so I am the first thing She sees every morning. And I have a beautiful one of Her that I kiss goodnight and good morning every day we are apart. She will send it to me later. The background to the photo is also special. It was the very first time we went out as a couple, on a very grown up date. We went to the theatre and then had an amazing meal in her favourite restaurant. I had driven her home, and had been on best big behaviour all evening (which has become increasingly difficult for me to do in her presence). We got home and Mommy immediately put a nappy (diaper) on me. Then she grabbed her camera and took the shot. I love it because even though I am dressed big (makeup and earrings) in the photo, it is clear to Mommy and me that I am already in little me mode. My features become more rounded and less “pointy”. My smile is natural, and not forced or hidden…there are no barriers or boundaries between me and the person behind the camera. Even I admit to looking pretty in the photo…. I will post it later when Mommy sends me a copy.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 9, 2021 at 3:48 PM
Content: OK, while waiting for the photo, I, and other people have mentioned that this is like a therapy session for me (and I really hope it is somehow helping others). So I was sort of discussing the conversations that had gone on here, just in general terms…no names or direct quotes. But I said that while I knew that I wasn’t autistic, I did feel that I sometimes display some autistic symptoms. She asked me how I knew I wasn’t autistic, and so I (rather smugly…) explained that I had read up on autism and related issues, and one of the main symptoms was a lack of empathy, or a limited mind theory appreciation. As I explained I could see my therapist smile, and then she explained that I must have been reading older texts to describe autism, as that was correct traditionally, but the latest thinking goes against that somewhat, and many people with autism can have a disproportionate level of empathy, either not enough, or, as she suspects with me, too much. I get very upset when something is unfair, or someone else is unfairly treated. I get incredibly upset if I see someone, or even something, like a dog or a cat being unfairly treated. I had a complete meltdown in the middle of a busy street recently when I saw someone kicking a stray dog (remember many stray dogs here could have all manner of diseases and problems from rabies down, which makes many people very afraid of strays), but I could not just ignore what I witnessed and I hurled abuse at the person and immediately went to the dogs protection. Anyone who knows me, knows that sort of reaction is normal for me. Mommy has to keep a whole box of tissues to hand if we watch a movie together, as I empathise too much with characters in films and the like. So, given all that, my therapist thinks I do lie somewhere on the autistic spectrum, as there are other issues that I have which tick more boxes. This brings me onto another question I want to throw out there. My therapist obviously knows about little me, but hasn’t really met her, as I try to ensure I stay in big mode when I am away from home or without my Mommy. But she would like to do a session with Mommy and me together…which really freaks me out a bit…because I always slip into little mode in Mommy’s company. No matter how hard I try to remain big. So has anyone had a session with a therapist in little mode. I have a wonderful therapist, who I completely trust…but…

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 9, 2021 at 5:09 PM
Content: So here is the photo which even i will admit i look pretty in. Also Mommy says I ought to post a photo to show i am in good place again, in a wonderful, loving, caring relationship.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 9, 2021 at 5:37 PM
Content: Yo

BelGeorge said:

That is indeed a very nice picture.

I'm following your story with great interest and I certainly don't want to be a spoilsport. In fact, I'm already looking forward to the sequel of what happened to you, Mary and Suzanne.

But I would recommend not sharing too much personal information from which your real identity could be inferred. Including photos on which you can be recognized. You never know who all this might end up with.
Just a well-intentioned warning.

[End of quote]

You make a good point thank you…. Maybe i will only leave it there for a short bit and then delete it….

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 9, 2021 at 9:10 PM
Content:

LudoErgoSum said:

I find people fall on a spectrum for me of how attractive they are and how that changes over time as I get to know them. There are people who are beautiful on the outside and when I find they are spoiled, entitled people, this changes how I see them and they become ugly to me. Other people start out unattractive and as I get to know the kind, caring person they are it changes the way I see them. They become more beautiful than the beautiful people could ever hope to be.

As you post your stories and respond to posts I see a person with many scars, physical and emotional, but our scars tell our stories. Our stories are a beautiful tapestry of light and dark. Without dark you cannot see the light and vice versa. So I too see you as beautiful. If a camera could see what I see you would be more beautiful than most models. And all I want from you is to be the best, happiest you that you can be. And I want that on YOUR terms, however you determine that to be.

[End of quote]

That is such a lovely response. Thank you. Mommy has a saying about scars telling our history too. Remember too, that She has been into quite heavy BDSM for some time…but She says She has never ever seen a person with as many scars both internal and external as me…. strangely, that was a link between Suzanne and Mommy…they both immediately kissed my scars, and both of them sort of trace my scars with their finger tips. It is really difficult to describe, but, to me it is the most intimate thing that anyone can possibly do to me. My scars are not nice scars, they are quite gruesome, especially the ones on my back. The sensation around and along the scars is a bit messed up, in some places I seem to have no sensation, but in other places it is super sensitive. But gentle fingertips tracing the scars…is soothing…and special…and makes me know I am loved despite my scars.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 10, 2021 at 2:45 PM
Content: Chapter 11: Home

Once the tray of sippy cups and biscuits returned, we found the first problem. It was impossible for me to grip the cup in my bandaged hands and reach my mouth. And without any straws in the house Auntie Suzanne had to even hold the cup to my lips in order that I could drink. The nurses had already been feeding me in hospital, although I had no appetite for quite some time. I found out later that people became quite concerned with the limited amount of food I was eating at that stage, but I also suppose I wasn’t needing much sustenance as I was not doing much.

It was frustrating for me that I could do nothing to help with Mary, who had to remain sitting in her stroller while we had our juice and biscuits. I wanted to pick her up and hug her, especially as she kept staring at me with such sad eyes, almost like she expected me to disappear again. I crouched down in front of her to talk to her, and she held out her arms for me to pick her up as normal.

“No dear, Ann cannot lift you at the moment, we have to make her wrists better first” her mommy explained. Eventually we worked out that if I sat on the floor, with my back to the sofa, then Mary could sit in front of me leaning back into me for support. This position also meant that I could have my hair brushed too…which was the best medicine for me. I cannot describe how the simple act of having my hair brushed carefully by someone that I love, gives me such a fabulous feeling inside. I am instantly transported to a different level. Auntie Suzanne knew this, and was always brushing my hair or fashioning it into different styles. Mary quietly sat looking at my two arms and hands covered in heavy bandages, sensing that she must be very careful. She would gently lean forward and kiss both arms in order to speed up the healing process. “Mary make Ann better” she would gently say.

Drinking was also frustrating, as my cup with straw had to be placed on a surface where I could get to the straw, but the cup would not get knocked over by either clumsy me, or Mary. Even the sippy cup was no help as I could not hold it, but Auntie Suzanne had to hold it for me. We tried propping it on cushions, but it would spill or slip, or I would just get a mouthful and then it needed tipping some more. I was not going to complain, but it was clear this frustration was driving me to tears. Eventually Auntie Suzanne intervened,

“Ann, I have come up with an idea, to help make sure that you have enough fluids inside you. It is really important that we stick, not just to your diet, but that includes fluids. I am getting really worried as this whole episode has caused you to lose weight, and this will only continue if we can’t get enough fluids inside you. In fact, if it gets any worse, then they will have to put a drip into your arm to get fluids inside you, and to enable that to happen, you would have to go back to hospital.”

Fear rose inside me, bringing almost panic levels, “no! I will make sure I drink lots and lots, I can’t go back to hospital, I just can’t. Please, I will do anything!” I pleaded. Even Mary turned to look with concern etched in her gentle look at me.

“Shh…calm down…we are not at that stage…yet.” Auntie Suzanne soothed me, watching Mary’s reaction. “But if that needs to happen for your good, then we will deal with it. But let’s try to avoid that shall we?” I eagerly nodded, willing to do anything to avoid hospital. “what I was thinking is we can fill some of Mary’s old bottles with your drinks, in that way if it gets knocked over or dropped it will not make a mess everywhere. Are you willing to give this a try for me, Ann?”

Of course I agreed. In fact part of me was excited by the idea, and I think Auntie Suzanne was realising not just that I was willing to do anything at all to avoid hospital, but I was actually enjoying being babied. She came back with a tray of drinks and biscuits, but his time it was a cup and saucer, a sippy cup and a baby bottle with teat attached. Mary was propped against me on the sofa, and carefully given her sippy cup, then she came back with the bottle. We found I could rest the bottle against my heavily bandaged wrists, and I was able to get the nipple into my mouth. But it did mean holding my aching arms aloft. So after a while we tried resting it on a cushion, which sort of worked. But my favourite bit came towards the end of the bottle, when I was cradled in Auntie Suzanne’s arms as she helped me drink the final bit. Mary would lie against my legs as I was fed the bottle, with Auntie Suzanne talking quietly to us both. But the bottle did make my life easier, and I soon got used to being given a bottle to suckle on as I went to bed. But I felt so special, and safe, being wrapped in Auntie Suzanne’s arms, and fed from a bottle.

It was a frustration and intensely humiliating at first having to be fed, dressed, bathed and the worst was going to the toilet, where Auntie Suzanne also had to even wipe me afterwards. But I kept on being told that it was no problem at all for her, as her former occupation was looking after other people, and she had to do exactly the same for Mary, anyway, so she just had two girls to look after. Meals took a little longer as both Mary and I had to be fed at the same time. We tried eating at different times, but Mary did not like that at all. In fact Mary also seemed to really enjoy my new status, even if it often meant that she had to just sit in her stroller inside the house a lot more. So at bath time Mary would be bathed first and I would wait until she had been dried and put into her nightie, then she would be placed in the stroller and it was my turn to be washed and dried. The routine in the morning was that Mary would be taken out of her bed, when she woke up, and put in my bed with me. Auntie Suzanne then had chance to get herself dressed before coming into my room to dress ‘her girls’.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 11, 2021 at 1:48 PM
Content: Just a quick note. There is going to be a little pause in this story. I will finish it (indeed it is 95% written already, apart from the very last bit). I have decided to separate my own fantasies away from the main story. While they were alive in my head at that time, and have continued to be my own intense fantasies since then, I didn’t give them voice at the time, because I probably thought that Suzanne would not have approved of them. So they should not be included in this, to respect the people involved. I might put them all as a separate chapter or even a completely separate story as they are so important to me as fantasies that I still one day would love to live out, with the right person or people.

But this horrid Covid disease is getting out of hand here, and that along with the problems I have experienced in trying to write this has lead me to the decision to have a break, for the sake of my own mental health. As many people here have advised me, I need to look after myself, and my mental health first. We are trying hard to work out how I can quickly move from here to Mommy’s house in Cape Town as living here now on my own isn’t helping either. I am a prisoner in solitary confinement and not managing to cope too well right now.

I promise I WILL finish this. I need to finish it. I have loved all the positive comments and support you have given me, and this is not letting you down, but it is just a pause, a short break until I am in a better place.

Thank you for your caring, wonderful support. I will be back!!

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 16, 2021 at 10:10 PM
Content: So…I have had a bit of a pause, and Mommy and I are carefully planning how I can move down to Cape Town as soon as possible. Even before I find a job there, I am not actually earning much here, and my boss agrees that I can do almost all the work he needs of I work remotely. The whole situation in South Africa is really complicated and very scary right now. Our vaccinations are being rolled out really slowly (Mommy has had her first jab, bu I need to wait a bit longer. But then we have had a whole lot of problems after our former President was sent to jail. His supporters have been rioting and then looting, starting off in Durban, but the riots have spread to here. We had several nights where I was really scared, with gunshots and sirens going all night. I have had my door locked and bolted, and even kept my lights dimmed so no one would know that anyone was in. But I have an old friend coming to stay here for a while. Thandie lives in one of the worst townships, and has had an awful life. Being a lesbian is doubly dangerous in those areas. Gangs of men are known to attack lesbians, even in their own home and rape them, to “cure” them of homosexuality. It is called corrective rape. It really happens. With the rioting there is more and more lawlessness happening, and she phoned me out of the blue, scared for her life. We used to have a relationship several years ago, and she knows about my little side, but it was actually part of why the relationship stopped as she finds it all a bit strange and not a turn on at all. Plus, back then she was still a heavy drug user, and I was trying to get myself clean. So she is coming to stay, and then she will keep an eye on things when I leave for Cape Town. I know I will feel better if she is here too, as I won’t be so jumpy all on my own. She is a real tough cookie, but has had to deal with some awful stuff In her life. I have made up a bed for her and put most of my little stuff away, so she doesn’t get weirded out too much. But I can’t wait until she gets here. I have never heard her sound so terrified. I even said she could come before asking Mommy. Mommy knows all about her (and therefore her and me!), but She immediately agreed that we had to get Thandie to safety first. She will be safe here and then I know my flat will be safe too, when I leave.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 17, 2021 at 2:23 PM
Content: Chapter 12: Backward Step

As it was getting very close to my final exams at school, we agreed that I should attend school even though I could not write anything at that stage, or even hold a book still, but Auntie Suzanne spoke to the teachers and she would drive me to school and I was allowed to sit at the front of the classroom. And then when I finished, Auntie Suzanne and Mary were waiting for me outside the school, often in the car, but sometimes they walked to collect me. For once in my life, people were nice and kind to me at school, and the teachers actually noticed me. But it brought up another problem. While I was at home it was only a bit humiliating to have to ask Auntie Suzanne to help me with the toilet, there was no way I was going to ask anyone at school to do the same. Several times, I was bursting by the time school finished and we had to rush home so Auntie Suzanne could help me with the toilet.

One day, the walk home took a little bit too long. I had needed a wee from about halfway through the morning, and by the time the bell rang to announce the end of the day, I was bursting! I was hoping that they had come in the car, but my heart sank when I saw Auntie Suzanne stood with Mary waving at me from her stroller. I was asked if there was anything wrong as I must have looked concerned, but I couldn’t tell them there what the problem was. We began walking home very slowly, and I was getting more and more desperate with any step. Finally I admitted that I really needed a wee. But we were still some minutes away from home. We picked up the pace, but it was too late…I felt a spurt of wee flood into my knickers and wet down my thighs into my socks. At one point I had to stop completely, and stood with my legs tightly crossed, but to no avail, as another jet of wee filled my now soaking knickers and ran down my legs. Auntie Suzanne had already realised my predicament before the puddle formed around my feet.

“Don’t worry, accidents happen, and no one other than us will notice”, she whispered comfortingly. But I was horrified and could feel my wet thighs rubbing on one another, and both my knickers and my socks quickly felt cold and wet, as we walked the rest of the way home. I couldn’t even voice my apology or humiliation, but felt that the whole world must have noticed this red-faced schoolgirl who had wet her knickers. We got home and went straight into the bathroom where my wet shoes, socks and knickers were removed before I was sat on the toilet, where even more wee came out.

“Ann, you will have to be able to ask one of the teachers or another staff member to help you as it will not do your bladder any good letting this happen.” chided Mary’s mommy. I just grunted and looked down in humiliation not able to say anything in reply, as I knew I didn’t have the courage to ask a teacher. The bath was run, and the rest of my clothing was removed from me. I was shivering, but from humiliation and not the cold. Auntie Suzanne could see I was upset, and tried to comfort me while she washed me. To try to avert attention from my predicament, I chose that moment to admit that one of my wrists was especially sore and swollen. This had the desired effect to change the immediate topic, but it caused much bigger issues in the long run. Auntie Suzanne immediately peeled back the bandages to reveal quite a bit of swelling on both my skinny wrists. She was very shocked and I was whisked out of the bath quickly, I was still just wrapped up in towels as Auntie Suzanne was on the phone to her friendly doctor. Both Mary and I were silent due to the clear concerned tone we listened too. Shortly, she came back into the bathroom, and said,

“Come on, I have got to get you quickly dressed and we are going to the doctor’s surgery, so she can have a look at your wrists. I knew we should have done this immediately we got you home from hospital.” Auntie Suzanne seemed cross, but it was the concern in her voice that gave that impression. I was quickly redressed, and we were soon speeding to the doctor’s surgery. I had never seen her drive so quickly or get cross with any other driver who got in her way, or didn’t move out of her way quick enough. Mary and I both stayed silent, but I kept trying to smile at her, to calm her nerves, even if the butterflies in my own tummy were doing aerobatics by now. We rushed from the car straight into the doctors office, who explained that she had actually just come from home, but was always happy to see our little family. She quickly greeted both Mary and her mother before turning her attention to me.

“Now young lady, Suzanne has told me that you are having some problems with your wrists, so let’s have a quick look at them, and while I do that I want you to tell me exactly how they feel.” The lady doctor announced, beginning to unpick the bandages on the one wrist. She didn’t even get halfway to the wrist before she stopped, and quickly began to unwrap the other wrist. Her demeanour immediately changed, from the light hearted, friendly enquiries to something much more serious. Her face suddenly seemed to gain more wrinkles. “I don’t like the look of this, not at all” she said. She immediately began to talk to Auntie Suzanne, well it might have been me too…but I did my usual thing when in situations like this, I withdrew into myself, and no longer really processed words coming in. It is a habit I still have to this day, and I literally don’t hear the bad news; I put barriers up and it doesn’t reach me in the hope that it won’t effect me. Generally it has about the same effect as Mary hiding, by closing her eyes, assuming that if she couldn’t see us, then we couldn’t see her. All I knew is that it had gone quiet, and both the doctor and Auntie Suzanne were looking at me, expecting a reply. The doctor still had gentle hold of my wrists, and Auntie Suzanne had moved to put a protective arm around my shoulders, so I knew this wasn’t good. I just looked back at them both completely mute, with rivers of tears beginning their journey down my face. I wasn’t going to break down in front of Mary again, but I had no control over the rivers…I just let them run, but stayed silent, shaking my head.

“Darling, sweetheart, it will be OK. Dr Henning will send you to the very best specialist and we will just do whatever they suggest to make sure you get better. I know how afraid you are of hospitals, but you need to be brave for just a bit longer. Maybe they just need to do some more X-rays and you won’t even have to stay there too long? You will have to be my little warrior again, for a bit longer, I am afraid.”

The bit longer turned into over a week. We went to another hospital where lots more X-rays were taken. The specialist looked at them and pronounced that the first hospital had done a dreadful job of fixing my wrists and to ensure I would retain full mobility of both he would have to re-operate, and basically break both wrists again, and put new plates and screws in. I don’t know how much of this I took in at the time, much of these facts were gained later. Obviously my diaries were all blank at this time, as I could not even hold a pen, and I have few memories at all of this time, but I think I just completely withdrew into myself. It has been a defense strategy that I have had to use a few times in my life. I stop feeling, and just allow myself to be a piece of meat. I don’t converse, or respond to anyone, but just shrink back into myself. Simple instructions might be followed, but not always. I do feel especially guilty towards Auntie Suzanne, as it must have been dreadful for her to try to communicate with me at this time, but my shutters were up. At least I wasn’t bawling in front of Mary, but I don’t know what she made of me during that time. The operation was repeated, but this time, at least I was put into a room on my own, rather than having to be in a ward with other patients. My wrists and hands were held in large plastic frames and then the whole lot covered in bandages. Like before I had tubes going into my arms, but differently no tubes going out of me this time.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 18, 2021 at 9:13 AM
Content:

kerry said:

Another impressive chapter, Ann. I'm glad that you felt comfortable enough to continue writing.

[End of quote]

Thank you Kerry, actually I have already written most of these, but as they are written from my diaries they are in basic Ann 1.0 (and you remember how unreadable they are!!), so it is really just a case of editing them and formatting them properly, to get them to Ann 3.5, with the Kerry 7.9 add-on! It has been so scary here in South Africa recently, with all the riots, but at least that caused my Mommy to make the decision that I need to get out of Jo’burg now. Also Thandie arrived and just having someone else about does make life a bit easier. She was exhausted when she arrived as she hadn’t slept in ages, because the protesting was so bad, and she was so scared. But she has already said that she will do all the shopping for us both as (and this is awful for me to admit) because she has black skin, she is safer than me outside. Also she can run really quickly, but I can only do a stupid shuffle. But just having her here has changed my mood, and knowing I am going to escape to Cape Town has lifted me again, so I can do this again.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 18, 2021 at 6:04 PM
Content: Chapter 13: Back home again

The one positive element of this period was how they had decided to dress me after this operation. Rather than a catheter going directly from my bladder into a bag, I found that I was in nappies. Under my nightie, they had put a huge diaper on me. The feeling it gave me is so difficult to explain, especially now, as I wear one all the time, and it would just feel odd to be not wearing one now. It was huge and bulky, and made a lot of noise (to my ears) whenever I moved. But it made me feel warm and safe inside. Because I felt like I had withdrawn deep into myself, this nappy was just another barrier for me, but this barrier was real, and warm and soft, and secure. I felt protected, and therefore comfortable. I could just be like a baby and lie in bed and nothing was expected of me. My nappy would be changed regularly, although often I was in a drug induced sleep when this happened, but then when I was given a bed bath, I would move from an exposed, humiliating, vulnerable state, while I was naked, being cleaned by two nurses, to being safe, secure, protected, covered by this soft yet noisy barrier. I hope people here, at least, can understand my simple emotions at the time. I didn’t really regress or become a baby, but I certainly stopped being an adult human being. I actually stopped being a human being. I was a piece of meat to be poked and pushed and turned, and wiped. I never rang the bell once during that period, even though I was told how to call for help. I would wee in my nappy, as that was much less embarrassing and less painful than having to call someone to help me. The nurses had to try to feed me, but I was worse than Mary when she was in one of her ‘moods’. I just would shake my head and keep my mouth closed after chewing a couple of mouthfuls down. In my mind, I was so broken that Suzanne would not want me to go home with her and Mary. Which would mean that I would be sent home to live with my biological mother again. Life would be unbearable. I was desolate, and could not see the point in living. I just retreated into a sad, dark place for several days. Not for the first time, and sadly as it turned out, not for the last time, I actively wished I would die.

I do remember Auntie Suzanne at my bedside at one time, trying to get me to hold a conversation with her. But getting little more than grunts in reply. I wasn’t blaming her at all as I ‘knew’ all this was my fault. I was the poison. I had been allowed a glimpse of a happy life, but now this was being removed from me. I ‘knew’ Suzanne was just trying to work out how to tell me that I was no longer needed or wanted in her house. But what she actually said broke down a barrier.

“Mary is so sad at home without you, and we both can’t wait to get you home again, where you belong…”. She quietly told me. I turned my head looking at her, not quite being able to process the words that were breaking through my guard.

“You don’t want me or need me like this,” I responded, despondently raising my bandaged arms. “I am useless, and maybe my wrists will never get better, or…”

“Stop this Ann!” cried Suzanne. “You are going to get better, I promise, and Mary and I love you and we both miss you so much. The house is horrible and silent without your presence. Mary will not laugh or even smile when you are not with us, and it is breaking my heart to see both my little girls so upset and so unhappy.” She climbed onto the bed, and half sat and half lay next to me trying to work out how to get passed all the tubes, and bandaged arms. She ended up resting her head on my diapered middle, as she was clearly scared about hurting me. My hope that she wouldn’t notice that I was wearing a huge diaper was quashed, when she joked “ooo, it is so nice they have thought to provide me with an extra pillow down here” she smilled, as she looked up at me between my bandaged arms her head on the duvet, but pressed into my diaper beneath. For the first time, I noticed that she had the same eyes as her daughter, Mary, and my own heart tripped a beat as she looked up at me. I knew I didn’t deserve this love and affection, but (as would be a problem for me later) I was so desperate, that I was willing to take whatever glimmer of it that I could. But that was the moment when I began to plan my escape all over again.

I don’t remember pleading out loud to come home. But inside I was screaming it from the moment we had left home for the doctor to look at me. But Auntie Suzanne knew, and suddenly I found myself back in her car, still dressed only in nightie, diapers, and lots of bandages on both arms, heading home for safety. I was put straight into bed, with strict orders to do nothing, other than to shout for help if I needed anything. My bedroom door was left open, but I think I just slept and slept this time when I first got home. Being under general anesthetic and having been through two lengthy operations, back to back, meant that I had been knocked a long way back. i found out later, from Suzanne that the second operation took over six hours, as she would call the hospital every half an hour. Everything was a bit of a blur, and I have no notes to work from. But slowly I managed to climb out of my shell, and begin to pay an interest with what was going on around me. I remained in bed for several days, with Auntie Suzanne coming in to feed me little amounts of simple food like soup and sandwiches. A weighted cup with a long, long straw was positioned on my bedside table. Mary was often propped up next to me in my bed as I was fed different meals. And the doctor came out several times to check on “the little warrior”. In the evenings Suzanne would come and lay with me in my bed, talking to me and feeding me from the bottle. She would even feed my formula in those days, in an effort to put some flesh on my bones. My own body began to match Mary’s little body; it had become fragile and skinny. Like her, you could count all my ribs. Surrounded by love and affection I was able to climb out, and soon was walking around the house a bit like a zombie with my hands held outstretched in front of me in their strange frames. Auntie Suzanne did also start reading some of my school books to me too, as we were only weeks away from the dreaded final exams too.

I don’t actually remember any detailed discussions around the nappies, but I do remember at one point Auntie Suzanne stopped putting them on me, and we went back to the former solution where I had to ask her to assist me to the toilet each time I needed to go. Then one night, I woke up needing a wee, and had to get out of bed and wake Auntie Suzanne up to help me onto the toilet, and wipe me after using it. She had jumped with a start, even though I had approached her bed quietly, which scared us both. The next night as she was putting my nightie on, it was just suggested that it might be easier for all of us if I was to wear a nappy again. Of course, I immediately agreed, as I was becoming if not addicted to the feelings they gave me, but I was certainly enjoying the secure feeling that they gave me. Auntie Suzanne admitted later that she noticed how quickly and willingly I allowed myself to be put back into diapers. Soon, I was back to wearing them in daytime too, as it was just easier to wee a bit in my nappy, and let Auntie Suzanne change me and Mary at the same time, rather than me having to disturb her each time I needed to go. It actually felt more natural to me to be in a nappy. I felt somehow exposed when I was just wearing panties under my dress, as I had no real use of either hand, but having a bulky nappy around me, made me feel safe. I loved sitting with Mary either on the floor or together on the sofa. There would be the same tell-tale crinkle as we were positioned by Suzanne. Suzanne would also do this cute ‘butt tap’ to us both all the time. So as she carried Mary, she would sub-consciously tap her butt. Then (as I moved around so slowly, in my zombie walk) she would tap my butt too. The same as we were about to be sat down for food, or once we finished. The best one was straight after we had been diapered; Suzanne had the same technique for us both. She would lay the fresh nappy underneath us, powder us (and add some diaper cream if it looked like either of us were developing any sort of rash). Then the front would be firmly pulled up and the tapes attached neatly. Then she would spend some time sliding her fingers around the waist and each leg, to ensure it was not too tight, but enough to ensure a watertight seal. Then, before pulling us upright she would give our diaper a couple of taps, whilst smiling up at our faces. I don’t have the words to describe that special feeling. Those love taps would go right through my body. I think this is why when I hear or read of other people being put into diapers as some form of punishment, it means nothing to me. Diapers to me could never be a punishment, but rather a reward, something to be earned, or even as a symbol of love and affection. That is what I felt then, when Suzanne diapered me, and I feel the same now, when Mommy diapers me. It is a feeling of bliss, of shared love and affection. When being diapered, I am offering myself in a completely vulnerable, open, naked position. Then a person gently, but firmly takes control. Lovingly clean and powder my most private areas as they choose, then firmly secures me, safe, warm and dry with a garment that protects not just from my fluids going out, but anything coming in. I hope people here can understand what I mean.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 19, 2021 at 2:08 AM
Content:

kerry said:

This is a very sweet chapter. Reading it gives me a warm feeling, even though I know that the other shoe will be dropping soon.

I hope you can make the move to Capetown without any trouble and that COVID.

[End of quote]

Thank you Kerry. I know this horrible Covid is affecting us all, right around the planet. I am so happy that this is giving you a warm feeling, really really happy, because it means I have managed to share that same warm feeling that Suzanne and Mary gave me all those years ago. Until I wrote this no one but me knew that, and I wouldn’t even acknowledge that, because I blocked it out because of what happened later. But I wanted to let other people know about these two angels, and what they mean to me. I know from what I have said, people reading this now are aware that this doesn’t last…that we didn’t all live happily thereafter. But…and this really seems too obvious now, but we, or at least 2 out of 3 of us didn’t know this would not continue for ever…. Just me, with my absolute conviction that I would poison everything good, ‘knew’ different. Some nights after a particularly happy day (and there were so many of those) I would lie awake in terror not knowing how I would wreck everything. I was (am?) really messed up, even then I realise. But I am really delighted that I have managed to share that lovely warm feeling, especially to you, my dear, kind, patient, teacher. I know I will never be one of your brightest pupils, but I am so proud to have received such a positive response for my efforts!

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 19, 2021 at 2:24 AM
Content:

RainbowConnection said:

Another beautifully written chapter, Ann. Please be safe in your travels; I wish you well, kind person.

[End of quote]

What a lovely comment. Really, I feel so empowered by the friendly people here. I don’t know yet when I am going to travel. Hopefully really soon. Thandie and I were sitting out on my balcony as she wanted a smoke, but the noises coming from not very far away were so terrifying, that we couldn’t stay there. We literally camp on the floor in the living room with all the lights off looking at my iPad screen. Thandie is sweet in that she knows all about little me and accepts that, but she doesn’t want to be involved. So she will happily make me a bottle, when she makes herself a coffee or tea, but there is no way she would ever volunteer to change me. But I don’t have to hide. She will say certain outfits are cute, and she even helps hanging all the nappies on the line. Same with me; I dont mind her smoking tobacco or dagga on my balcony but not inside the flat.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 19, 2021 at 2:33 AM
Content:

Jayme said:

BabyAnn, you have a beautiful written voice. I can truly relate and understand how you feel about diapers being a shield and protector. Your story is touching and parts make me want to rage about how you were treated by others. I often find myself asking why we as a human race can be so horrible to each other, and often seeing the answer is because they can. I know it makes no sense as to why but it is the truth. Victims are treated like they are the problem and sometimes are told if they weren't there it wouldn't have happened.

Enough of the heavy stuff, I'm loving your story and hoping it helps you become happy!

[End of quote]

Another really touching comment; thank you. I am pleased that there are other people here who feel the security & protection that a diaper gives me. Not (just) in the protection of leaking out, but protected from anything from outside getting in. I could easily follow you down the rabbit hole of heavy stuff, but no one listens to the quiet voices of reason.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 19, 2021 at 9:22 AM
Content: Chapter 14: Final Exams

Slowly I got my strength back and it was agreed that I should try to attend school for the final two weeks leading up to the final exams, and then also I would be more used to travelling when I actually had to sit the exams. But I was concerned about the accident that I had had the last time I attended school. But Auntie Suzanne had preempted my concerns.

“Pull-ups!” she announced “they are sort of like nappies, but you wear them like normal panties, and they are not so bulky, so I am sure you can wear them under your school knickers and no one will be able to tell.” Of course, as with everything else, Auntie Suzanne was completely correct. The pull-ups were slid up my legs into position, and then my school knickers (which we all called granny knickers, as they were huge and green) were pulled up over the top, and it was impossible to tell. This gave me much more confidence at school, although I still could not actually write, and final exams were just around the corner.

No one other than Suzanne, Mary or me knew from the outside what I was wearing, of course I knew, and I felt a a similar level of confidence wearing them as when I would wear ‘proper’ nappies, although we did find some shortcomings when compared to ‘proper’ diapers. Thinking they would be easier all around, Suzanne put me in them overnight, but I did have a little leak, as I always sleep on my side. Plus, it was a horrible feeling if they were wet to take them down your legs; it was much later I found out that the idea was to rip the sides to take them off. Also, from a purely selfish point of view, I found I really enjoyed the ‘ritual’ involved when someone puts me in a nappy. With a pull-up, even if someone is assisting, it is no different to putting on normal panties. I can’t really explain or understand why I really enjoy someone putting me in a nappy, as I am intensely shy, shy to a paralysing extent. But lying naked from the waist down, while someone else has complete access and control to all my private areas, being wiped in all the most intimate places, having cream applied, often directly to my vagina, as often any rash would start on the sensitive skin there first. Then the feeling of exposure is replaced by almost the opposite feeling of protection, and covering with a thick, but soft, barrier. So the pull-ups served a purpose, but I preferred proper nappies to wear, a situation which is still true to this day.

Auntie Suzanne, Mary and I went to see the school principal after school one day, before I started attending school again. Auntie Suzanne had made the appointment, and took complete control of the meeting. I loved watching someone I loved bossing this horrible woman about, entirely dominating her, and not asking, but telling her, what needed to happen for me. Auntie Suzanne had already decided that the doctor would try taking my one hand out of the frame, to enable me to write, but if that was too painful for me, or even became too much for me during the course of any of the exams, then I must be allowed to continue my exam in another room on my own, where I would be able to dictate my answers to the school secretary, or someone similar. Also, the principal had to request extra time for me for all of my exams, especially the ones that had a lot of writing connected to them. The school headmistress could only agree to every single one of the demands, she had clearly never met such a force of nature as Auntie Suzanne, especially when Auntie was talking about the well-being of one of ‘her girls’!

So that was decided, and in the end, the doctor would come to our house early in the morning before each exam, and then I would be taken straight to her surgery after the exam had finished. My wrist was very carefully inspected for any additional swelling, and I had to report any additional pains to her before it was carefully re-bandaged into the frame until the next exam day. I did write them all myself, and was allowed additional time for most of the papers. It was really uncomfortable to write, but I managed to develop a technique which mostly kept my wrist flat on the paper. Certainly my own self-esteem blossomed at this time as even the teachers commented in admiration at my determination to write the exams, even though I was clearly in pain. Then both the doctor and Auntie Suzanne would gush with their praise and affection for me, filling me with confidence to pass all my exams. Once home, I would be changed out of my school uniform and pull-ups and into my own clothing and nappies. I would do my zombie walking around the house, and then Mommy would quiz me on questions from my schoolbooks whenever she could, when she was feeding Mary and me. And then in the evening we would sit cuddled together with her quizzing me or reading and explaining different sections of different topics to me.

In a flash the exams were over, and Auntie Suzanne and Mary collected me from the school for the very last time. As we were driving to the doctor’s I was told I would never have to step inside that school again if I didn’t want to, and I would never have to wear a school uniform again! The doctor also was full of praise for me as she closely inspected my wrists and only wrapped them back up again once she was completely comfortable with what she saw. She told me that I had shown more courage than some of the big hulking rugby players that she sometimes saw. From then on, as she knew I didn’t like coming into medical surgeries, she would come to our house to keep a close check on my recovery. She also explained that she wanted to closely monitor my weight and diet, as there was a chance that my bones had broken because of my poor childhood diet, that they were weakened.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 20, 2021 at 9:26 AM
Content: Chapter 15: Mary

The doctor also wanted to check on Mary’s progress; I was really only beginning to learn of Mary’s myriad of problems. She had been born with multiple disabilities, and these caused many developmental issues. Later, I was also informed that Auntie Suzanne had been warned shortly after the birth that her baby may not even reach a year old, and to take each year from there as a bonus. Certainly she was not expected to make it to adulthood. Outwardly, she displayed few problems, although she had a form of muscular atrophy which meant she became weaker over time. She struggled to stand and was unable to walk, and needed support to be able to sit up straight. She also had a problem with drooling a lot, but we “solved” that with cute little towelling neckerchiefs which we just changed regularly. I always saw a happy, determined little character, who while she could not express too much using her voice, she had the most expressive eyes of anyone I have ever known. She could express more in a short look than most people would have been able to describe in a week. She was gentle, and very loving, always happy to share anything. She was just as inquisitive as any other child. I still love her very much.

Really my own issues should have paled into insignificance alongside Mary’s and it spoke volumes that Auntie Suzanne looked after the pair of us through this time, rather than sending me back to live with my mother, and concentrating her resources on Mary. But she told me that she loved her two little girls, and by that stage had already decided that it would have broken her heart and Mary’s heart if we had to be separated any longer. What I didn’t know at that time is that Mary had been inconsolable while I had been in hospital for both operations and it had been impossible to get any food into her at all. But as soon as I came home she just started eating again. Mary, like me had a very slight frame, and she had much less flesh than even me, so even going a day without food was a problem for her let alone a week without food. Without my knowledge, if I had been delayed being released from hospital the second time, Mary would have had to been admitted herself, and put on drips in order to get enough essential nutrients to her internal organs.

So we got used to the doctor calling regularly at different times to check on us both. Auntie Suzanne and the doctor really seemed to get along well with one another, but I also think that the doctor could see that Auntie Suzanne had her work set out for her basically looking after 2 disabled kids at one time. Mary and I were inspected, weighed, and thoroughly loved through and through! Auntie Suzanne would dress us the same, and do our hair the same, which we both loved. Mary and I were devoted to one another, and that time and the issues we were each dealing with meant that our lives were becoming intertwined. At one stage I think I even brought up the problem of the doctor seeing that I was still wearing nappies all the time, but Suzanne had told me not to worry at all, and she had discussed all of the different issues with the doctor, and it had actually been the doctor who had encouraged Auntie Suzanne to baby me a bit, given everything that I had been through. The fact that I had not ever complained about wearing diapers, or pull-ups or drinking from sippy cups and bottles. Suzanne said it was nice seeing me being allowed to be a sweet little girl, in the knowledge that I had never properly experienced anything like that. It was obvious a huge thing to Mary, that she had a companion, and an equal. In fact, exactly the same was true for me. I got to experience what It was like to be loved, to have two other human beings who were concerned for me. Being treated the same as Mary also aided my recovery; I had to eat all my food, together we had to regularly rest, to recover. We were both unable to do lots of things for ourselves, and we both had to rely on Suzanne for our basic needs, to dress us, to clean us, to feed us. I had grown up to be ashamed of my own body, not only because it was deformed, and covered in scars, but I didn’t develop like other girls of a similar age; I had no boobies and no curves to my hips. In changing rooms at school, I soon learned to hide away in corners, so other girls could not see me and deride me for how I looked. Many of the girls there appeared to enjoy showing off their ever expanding breasts to the other girls, or their shapely buttocks. I was certainly envious of them. But suddenly, I felt no inhibitions being naked in front of Suzanne or Mary, even though Suzanne had the most incredible figure of any female I had seen at that stage. Suzanne would wash all my body, including ‘front bottom’ and ‘back bottom’ as we called them. I would lie on the floor or on my bed completely naked, completely exposed as she would check all over for any signs of a rash or anywhere that looked a bit sore. Yes, I had fantasies about Suzanne, but in my fantasies, in my warped mind, these were to happen in the evenings, in our grown up time.

As I mentioned, my mornings were started with Mary being carefully put into the bed next to me, and we would cuddle and talk nonsense with each other until Auntie Suzanne came back, where we would hide under the sheet, giggling together. The game was that Mary’s Mommy would try to work out which one was which under the sheet. She always got it wrong which always caused huge peals and shrieks of laughter from Mary. Then we were asked which one of us wanted to be dressed first, which often caused the sheet to be pulled over to more laughter. Eventually one of us was chosen and we would have our nappy changed and dressed, before the other one was collected and dressed as similar as possible. Then Mary was carried through to the breakfast bar, and I would follow doing my ‘zombie walk’. We each had our own bowls of fruit and muesli and yoghurt to finish off (each amount carefully weighed). Neither of us could leave until every single bowl was completely finished. Then we were each given our pills, and we each had a lot of pills and tablets to get through. Once they had all be dispatched, Mommy would put us both on the sofa, and I would try to read a book to Mary. Either Mary had to turn the pages for me, or I would attempt to do so with my zombie hands. This gave Auntie Suzanne chance to clean and tidy the house, as well as setting the washing machine off. Sometimes we would have to go shopping in which case I was put in pull ups to save my blushes, but often, as I seemed to have very little energy, Mary and I were left in the car to chat & sing. I would make up silly stories about all the different people pulling in and parking in the car park. Or we would ‘talk’ for hours in our own special made-up language of nonsense - blabber blabb. So many times, Suzanne would come back to us both in fits of giggles, but if she asked either of us what we were laughing at, one of us would respond with “blabber baaab bab blabber,’ which would set us off giggling all over again. Suzanne would roll her eyes at us both, but often join in the giggling. In fact, that little car was always the happiest car in the world. On our trips, rather than exhaust noise, all the sound people would hear was laughter, but the nicest laughter of three people who had real, unconditional love for one another. We were never laughing at one another but always, always with each other. This was so far removed from my previous childhood, where all too often I was the target of the laughter. As I got stronger, then Auntie Suzanne would take us all out, on little trips, and she loved buying clothing for us both, always trying to find matching outfits. One particular success, I only found out about a bit later.

Our biggest problem was when Mary had to go into the hospital for one of her regular visits there. I think more detailed checks were done, including blood tests, as well as a certain amount of physiotherapy. On one day, we were told that we needed to be going out, so I was dressed in pull-ups under my dress, while Mary was in her usual nappies. I can’t remember when we were told that we were having to go to the hospital. It might have been before we even started driving there, or it could have been when we were already on the way. But even though our destination was mentioned almost as an aside, my heart immediately sank. Auntie Suzanne was doing her usual keeping a close eye on us in the back, and she must have caught my terrified expression.

“Please don’t look like that Ann, there is nothing at all to be afraid of. Today it is Mary’s turn to perform for the nurses, and we don’t want to put her off do we?” I well knew that the real meaning behind that was that I was not to get Mary scared too of going to the hospital. I tried to smile, but I didn’t know how I would be able to walk inside the hospital, even knowing that I would be safe this time. We pulled into the hospital car park and I swear I could already smell the disinfectant, and I began to feel nauseous. Mary’s stroller was retrieved from the boot of the car, and Mary was lifted out into the car, before Auntie Suzanne leant in, and looking imploringly into my eyes, she asked, “are you coming with us?” I began to shake my head, and it was the only time I ever saw even the slightest temper from her, “no? Fine, well you just wait there until we are completely finished,” and she stepped back slamming the door closed.

“No!” I wailed, knowing I was letting her and Mary down, “I am coming!”. As the fear of letting them both down was actually stronger than my fear of the hospital.

Auntie Suzanne immediately opened the door and gave me a huge kiss, quietly saying, “thank you, Ann, I know this is tricky for you” as she unbuckled my seatbelt and helped me out. I still could not push the stroller so I walked ahead with my zombie hands, so neither of them could actually see my expression of terror.

Most of the day was just usual hospital boredom, where Mary was taken from one waiting room to another, and then taken inside for some tests or something to be performed on her. I managed to get my own fear and physical shaking under control, but even the smell of the disinfectant seemed to attack my nose. I wanted to be anywhere else but in that place, but I felt a responsibility an odd feeling of support for another human being, which was foreign to me, for all my life that far, it had been me against the world. Now I was connected to another human being. A very selfish part of me was thankful that it was Mary that they were interested in and not me. But as the day progressed, I could see all the tests and procedures were having an effect on her and she was tiring badly, and becoming fractious. Towards the end of the day they were trying to make her stand in a frame, but clearly she was far too tired now, and she was crying and sobbing while the sour faced nurses were grimly making scores on their sheets of paper.

Something inside me snapped, and to everyone’s shock, including Suzanne and Mary, I stood up, shouting “no! That is not fair!”, I then zombie stomped across the room to where the nurses were in a circle around Mary trying to stand in a frame. I was so livid with the unfair way they were treating Mary.

”Mary can stand easily, but you have made her too tired, and none of you are giving her any encouragement, as you are more interested in taking notes, and writing on your pieces of paper”. Before anyone could stop me I dropped to my knees in front of the sobbing, crumpled form of Mary. “Mary, I love you” I quietly said to her, her large wet eyes focusing on me, “Mary, I know, and your Mommy knows, you can stand, because we know you are wonderful. Come on, show these horrible nurses how clever you really are.” Mary kept looking at me, and I tried to transfer some strength, resolve and even some of my anger to her. “Come on sweetheart…I love you so much”. With that Mary slowly, shakily stood up gripping tightly to the frame, she kept focusing on my face and my continued encouragement as she determinedly stood up, and she caused both me an Suzanne to shriek in laughter and victory as Mary even stamped one of her feet, which we knew she would do when really determined. Suzanne rushed over and carefully collected Mary, before we all sat together in a big family hug, and Suzanne announced that she was so proud of her two brave warriors. I did sort of get a telling off later, as I should not have called the nurses ‘horrible’, but the telling off was done with a huge grin across her face.

Of course, I was never told the outcomes of all these tests, but looking back it can’t have all been great news. Mary had even more pills to take, and she had to start a course of injections initially at the doctors surgery. But first it was my turn to return to the hospital for the specialists to check their work, and to hopefully finally have the bandages and plastic frames removed. Fortunately, for me, the frames could be removed, along with the heavy bandages and splints, but lighter bandages had to remain, and I was given a whole set of exercises that I had to do. I would sit having to rotate my hands one way and and then the other. Mary thought this was a great game and she would mimic my movements to lots of gurgles and laughter. But this mimicking would soon be repaid. Auntie Suzanne packed us both into the car for yet another trip to the doctor’s surgery. We were all treated together, and the nice doctor would check my wrists, and then look at Mary, then Mary would be weighed and then it was my turn. Everything was done with smiles and jokes and laughter…until the doctor began to prepare the syringe for Mary’s injection. Immediately Mary saw it, and began to cry and create, on her Mommy’s lap, saying she didn’t want to have the jab. Both her mother and the doctor tried to calm her down, but it was evident that Mary was working herself up into a meltdown.

Suddenly, it hit me, and I just announced, “But this isn’t fair!”

Auntie Suzanne quickly looked at me, “Ann, this isn’t helping, at all, this time”

“No, not like that, I mean…well, everything else we have shared. I get checked and Mary gets checked, I get weighed and then Mary gets weighed, so surely if Mary gets an injection, then I must get an injection?” I explained. The doctor and Suzanne looked at me and then one another. Mary had even gone quiet.

“But you don’t need an injection,” explained the doctor.

“I don’t care…if Mary is getting an injection then I should have one too! In fact you can give us a jab together, can’t she, Mary”. Mary began to smile, realizing I was on her side. Finally the two adults in the room also understood what I was suggesting.

“You are a star, Ann! And, of course you are absolutely right, isn’t she Mary”. Right, now how shall be do this, I don’t think I could cope with two wriggling bodies across my lap, Doc, where do you want these two wonderful bundles of trouble?”

“Right, well let’s get you both back onto the examination table shall we.” As we were both lifted back onto the table where each of us had previously examined. “Now I need you both lying down on your sides”. We were both gently laid facing one another and I wrapped my still bandaged arms around Mary, and we began doing our silly language that we sometimes did to one another.

“Blaaaabb blab blabber” “blab blabber blaaabb” came the reply, as we looked intently into one another’s eyes.

“Right who is going first?” The doc asked,

“Me!” I responded quickly going back to our conversation. I felt the hem of my dress lifted up, and then a pause, and then a small, gentle tap on my bottom.

“There you go!” Then they moved to Mary and I kept the silly talking going. Mary’s eyes widened and then she blinked rapidly, but didn’t cry at all and kept replying to me in our silly language.

The next thing we knew was Auntie Suzanne’s head appearing above us both, her smile beaming at us both, “I am so, so proud of my two little warriors.” As we were each awarded a kiss on our cheeks while Mary and I kept hugging.

As we left, the doctor quietly said to me, “well done, young lady, they are both very lucky to have you”. I was glowing with such praise, as I followed the other two out of the surgery. Suzanne could sense my mood as she helped fasten my seatbelt after she had put Mary in her seat. “Thank you, my angel” she said planting another kiss on my forehead.

The car was then filled with its usual nonsense, giggles, silly languages and triumphant shouts of

“Joooose!”

“Biscuits”

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 20, 2021 at 11:53 PM
Content:

kerry said:

Oh, god, this is the cutest story ever! At least through this point.

[End of quote]

Well, you are one of the main reasons for that! Thank you Kerry for being the best teacher ever!

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 22, 2021 at 1:39 PM
Content: These chapters are getting progressively more difficult, and there may be some delays coming…but there will only be a few more to go to test your boredom levels.

Chapter 16: Mary’s Birthday

Then it was Mary’s birthday, which I managed to spoil. I am sure that every one of Mary’s birthdays were celebrated with more fervour than most kids, and turning 6 was no different. Suzanne told me off for wasting too much of my money, but throughout all this time she had been regularly paying me, even when I was in hospital. I remember I had remonstrated with her once I had discovered all the money in my bank account. I said that she was already too generous with me, but then paying my hospital bills (the second hospital was all private so would have cost a fortune) and also paying me was too much. She had smiled and explained that she wasn’t paying me but actually Mary’s father was covering the cost of Mary’s carer and she had decided that I was the best thing that the ‘bastard’ had ever paid for!

But I also could not think of anything, or anyone, better to spend my money on, so I had bought teddy bears and paints and paintbrushes, and colouring books, and crayons, and even some cute socks that she had squealed at in a shop when we had been shopping. They were so cute with like a multi-coloured frill to the top of them.

Some people had been invited for a quiet afternoon party, and I had spent a few nights cutting out shapes and letters from coloured paper, and then the night before Suzanne and I were blowing up balloons and making little snacks and things. Many fiddly things were still a challenge to me, with both bandages covering both wrists from hands back to almost my elbows. I also was not letting on, but I was still experiencing quite a lot of pain, but I was too scared to even ask for simple painkillers. My arms were quite weak still, but my wrists have never quite been the same since.

Mary was an absolute joy to give presents to, as she would not hold back on her excitement. So Suzanne and I had decided that we should spread our presents out through the day. Between Suzanne and me, we still had a number of chores to finish too. I had also been warned that Mary’s father would probably turn up too, and I was very intrigued to see who was actually paying me.

We started off by both Suzanne and I singing happy birthday to Mary in her bedroom, first thing in the morning. The first presents were opened as soon as we had both cleaned our breakfast bowls. Mary would squeal and clap her hands in joy and soon small pieces of wrapping paper were sent in all directions. Every half an hour or so we would stop for yet more presents, and associated squeals of joy. The special cake was delivered. Suzanne had saved some surprises for me too. After an early lunch I was tasked to trying to bathe Mary, so her mother could dress her in her new birthday outfit. I went outside to hang the ‘Happy Birthday Mary’ banner which I had made, along with balloons and ribbons on the gate, the front door and trees in the garden. Auntie Suzanne called me in to see how Mary looked. She looked gorgeous! Her hair was in 2 bunches high on her head, but she also had a white Alice band, which seemed to glitter in the light. She had an adorable high waisted dress, with billowing sleeves. The short hem had a pink satin ribbon worked through it, and it was held out by a billowing petticoat, which looked like multicoloured clouds surrounding her legs, on her feet were the cute frilly socks that I had bought which matched the petticoat perfectly. Her feet were in some patent white shiny sandals.

“Mary!” I exclaimed, “you look so pretty, you are good enough to eat!” Mary squealed with absolute excitement.

Suzanne said, “well I hope you have a good appetite for once!” Together, with Mary completely unable to control herself, bouncing in her Mother’s arms, they took my hand and led me through into my own bedroom. There on the bed was a matching outfit. Completely matching, down to the socks. Suzanne explained that she had managed to smuggle another pair in after Mary had ‘convinced’ me to buy her own socks. But they matched the multi-coloured petticoat skirts so perfectly. The outfit even included some wonderful satin knickers, or actually diaper covers, as Suzanne explained. Mary even had to show me that she had exactly the same on under her own petticoats. I don’t think I had ever seen, never mind been able to wear, such pretty clothing. We even had matching shoes and Alice bands! Both Suzanne and Mary in their own ways helped me change, Mary helping by sitting on my bed, propped up by pillows screaming with joy. Her happiness was infectious, and we were both allowed to have a little bit of makeup carefully added. Then, with the time ticking away, Suzanne told us to wait for her to get ready while we had to keep clean in the living room. We were still playing when Suzanne walked in wearing a similar, but subtly different outfit. Hers was clearly an adult version of what we were wearing, but I could also see how it would have been totally inappropriate for me; the short white dress showed off Suzanne’s figure and curves, and she had fabulous patterned tights going into white high heels, which would have toppled me right over. But the look was very similar, and we really looked like we were a family, a unit. Like we all belonged to one another. Looking back, I also think that Suzanne was sending a message to Mary’s father; we looked (and felt) glamorous. We were a happy unit.

We didn’t have long to admire one another when the doorbell rang and the first of the party guests arrived. I didn’t know who Suzanne knew to invite, but it was clear that almost all of the families each had special needs children in their families, and Suzanne later informed me that they were all families and kids she had met through the hospital and associated support groups. Some of the children were clearly much more disabled compared to Mary, but there were also a few who appeared to have no disabilities whatsoever, as well as a couple of related siblings.

An older, quite severe looking, couple also arrived, although they didn’t stay long. I was introduced to them, and found out that they were Mary’s grand parents, Suzanne’s parents. Her father was what we call in South Africa, a ‘dominee’ or a church minister. But the other shocking thing for me was that they were Afrikaans speaking. Which meant that like me, Suzanne’s mother tongue was Afrikaans, but we actually only spoke English to one another. They both appeared quite unable to interact with Mary in any meaningful way. At one stage the father tried to put his huge hand on Mary’s head to give her a blessing, but Mary fearfully withdrew and hid into Suzanne as he tried this. He had a forbidding presence, and I was quite thankful that they did not stay long.

The party was going quite well, with the nice weather meaning we could be outside. Suzanne and I seemed to spend much of the time running inside and out with different food and drinks, or wipes to mop up spillages, or guiding different people inside to the toilet. Looking back, I was probably getting too tired again, and I still was a long way off recovered from my wrists and associated operations. I would tend to become withdrawn and self-conscious if my CP became more evident, but, for once, there was no chance for me to step back; I had important responsibilities on that day, as Mary’s ‘big sister’. Mary’s father had arrived, alone, with a huge parcel, and he and I had politely greeted one another before spending the rest of the party trying to size the other up with suspicious looks being constantly traded between us. But I was mostly arranging simple games for the different children to play, with most of the kids arranged on a rug, or in different strollers and support seats around me.

It was something like Simple Simon or similar, when I heard Mary scream inside. I knew that Suzanne had taken Mary inside, so she could open the large present from her father. Apparently the scream was really over nothing, but Mary had been placed on the sofa, propped up with cushions, while Suzanne went to get some scissors or the like from the kitchen, and Mary’s father had tried to pick her up. But to Mary, he was still a stranger, so she had understandably screamed. But obviously, I wasn’t to know that at that time. I recognised two things, that the scream was from Mary, and it was a genuine scream of terror. I didn’t know that Suzanne was only a couple of steps away, or that there was no need for Mary to be terrified. All I knew is that I needed to get there as quickly as I could. I can’t really run very well on a good day, on a good surface. Turning around and trying to run into the house, I got it all a bit wrong, and even now, I can remember falling down. I didn’t want to put my previously damaged arms out, for fear of damaging them again. So my head hit the concrete path first. My fall caused massive consternation from the guests and their kids, as they had also heard the scream and then saw me unsuccessfully launch myself towards the house. Apparently I lay, unmoving, for a while. I think I was possibly checking that nothing was broken (we later found out that the only broken bone was my nose). But I do remember one of the children looking down at me and screaming. I had a lump and a graze on my head, but the vast majority of the expanding pool of blood was streaming from my nose. Finally an adult came, and my bleeding nose was staunched with a tea towel. Suzanne appeared and was clearly upset with what she could see, and as I was trying to get to my hands and knees, Mary’s father was instructed to carefully pick me up and take me into the living room, where I was gently placed on the sofa. I was initially lying on my back, but the blood from my nose caused me to cough out obscene amounts of blood, over my new dress, the sofa, the carpet, everywhere.

Soon Suzanne appeared kneeling in front of me, brushing my hair, and inspecting the lump on my head. “Ann, we must take you into the hospital, as you have had a really nasty bump to the head, and you were knocked out for a while, so it could be really dangerous for you.”

My best day ever was turning into yet another nightmare, and it was clearly all my fault again.

“No, please, please don’t send me to the hospital, please Auntie Suzanne. I wasn’t knocked out, not completely, and my nose has nearly stopped bleeding” I pleaded through my blood filled tea towel.

Obviously, I would have looked much worse than I was trying to suggest, as a broken nose can produce massive amounts of blood. Ice and different cloths and towels were brought in together with a procession of anxious faces which peaked around the door, to look at the odd little disabled kid who had tried to re-arrange her face using a concrete pavement. I think my gory face and my attempt to make the 6 year old birthday party look like some dramatic crime scene caused an early exodus for the guests. But the next concerned face in front of me belonged to our doctor. Suzanne had called her after witnessing my reaction to the suggestion of a visit to the nearest accident and emergency ward. Kindly she had come out to make an assessment. She very gently checked me over thoroughly. She stopped all the bleeding, and dressed the wounds that she could. She even, very gently, aligned my nose, it still has a slight bend and a bump in it, but you have to look carefully to really see it. Suzanne was told that she needed to keep a close eye on me, and that I would likely soon have a wicked headache, but she also needed to keep me awake, and to watch for certain warnings. I was made to promise both of them that if it was decided I needed to go then I would not put up a fight.

Soon everyone had left, and Mary was left watching me closely while Suzanne loaded the dishwasher and cleaned up after the guests but she would constantly look in on us, standing in the doorway with such a serious look on her face. She would regularly come and ask me how I felt, if I was dizzy, if I had a headache and she would look carefully at my eyes. Of course I didn’t tell her the truth about feeling dizzy and having an extraordinary headache, but she knew I was lying, I am sure.

Very unusually, we had our meal on trays in the living room in front of the TV. Suzanne was quite strict about us sitting down together at a table to eat our meals, and was normally quite opposed to eating in front of the TV. The meal was a bit of a disaster, as I had no appetite, and so Mary decided to copy me and not eat any of hers, so I tried to trade a few mouthfuls, but moving my jaw made my headache worse, and I was beginning to feel quite nauseous. I was feeling very low, not just from the headache and nausea, but I had spoiled Mary’s special day, she looked so unhappy studying me with her large sad eyes. I cuddled her to me, as Suzanne gave up the struggle and cleared away the hardly touched food.

“I am so sorry, Mary, for spoiling your party” I whispered to her. This caused her to struggle out of the cuddle. She turned her whole body so she could look directly into my face, her hands going up to each side of my face. This was how she would make sure we knew what she was going to say was important. I often think that we all ought to do this, as it makes a strong statement that the other person must listen directly to this. It also lets you see any small messages in their eyes and face. Also Mary would express such emotions through her eyes and when they were only a few centimetres from your own face, you could read them. The other benefit of this way of holding the other persons face is that it blocks out any distractions, you are forced to listen, and to look. She willed up all her reserves to begin to share her emotions, “Sad Ann has ouch on head, not sad party” I began to try to disagree with her, but she just repeated in a louder, more forceful voice, squeezing my face to force her words into me “Sad Ann ouchie on head, not sad party!” I kissed her little face.

“Mary is right, Ann, you must not blame yourself. This was actually all caused by Mary’s father, who should have known better. You were merely coming to Mary’s rescue. It is not your fault, listen to Mary”. Suzanne reinforced her daughter’s sentiment. I knew they were both wrong, but I also knew that I would never be able to convince them. We all had a group hug, and chatted on the sofa for a while, discussing the party and our guests. We went through all the different presents that Mary had received, and which guest gave what present. Suzanne prepared a list so she could send a thank you letter to each person, and I suggested that Mary could paint some little pictures to go with the cards. This received unanimous support. Then it came to bath time, and I suggested that I would have a bath after Mary and then go to bed early myself.

“No, the doctor was quite insistent that you should not go to sleep early, but I need to keep you awake until your usual bedtime, and to keep checking you and especially your eyes and pupils all the time. Head injuries can be very serious, and the effects sometimes only happen several hours after the event. So you just sit there for the time being, while I bath the birthday girl, and tuck her up in bed.” explained Suzanne.

“OK, then I can come through and read her a story,” I suggested.

“You can be so stubborn at times, Ann! What part of ‘sit there’ didn’t you understand? Mary is quite worn out anyway, and I am sure will be fast asleep in no time at all. Here,” she said passing me the remote control for the TV, “just find something nice for us to watch later.”

I flicked through the channels, not finding anything that was particularly interesting. Suzanne bathed Mary, but kept checking that I was OK, finally she returned with a towel wrapped Mary in her arms.

“Happy birthday Mary” I said, but managed to swallow the apology that was about to tumble out after the birthday wishes, Suzanne bent over to offer me the damp head protruding from the towels. I could see Mary was almost asleep already as the excitement of the whole day caught up with her.

I sat back on the sofa, closing my own eyes as the same began to hit me, it seemed almost immediately that Suzanne was gently shaking me telling me to open my eyes. I tried to convince her that I wasn’t actually sleeping but merely closing my eyes and resting, but Suzanne wasn’t buying it.

“You stay awake now and find us a nice movie, while I’m going to go and make myself a well-earned Gin and Tonic and I shall make a bottle of formula for you so at least we get some goodness into your tummy”. I pulled a face as while I enjoyed being fed from the bottle, I don’t like the taste of formula “I know you don’t like the formula, but if you won’t eat your proper food, you leave me little choice.” said Suzanne.

I flicked through the channels but hadn’t managed to find anything, when she returned. In one hand she had what I viewed as the height of sophistication. A gin and tonic, together with a slice of lemon and ice cubes politely chinking against the glass. In the other hand she held the other end of that scale, a baby bottle with bright flowers on the outside and a rubber nipple on top. The brown liquid inside announced the yucky formula. Suzanne arranged the drinks on the side table and then arranged herself and then me into the corner of the sofa. Suzanne was always very deliberate in her movements and how she arranged everything to hand, so she ensured that the remote control was reachable, as well as the drinks. Cushions were moved and fluffed to provide support in the perfect places. She even arranged her own long limbs so I was trapped inside her embrace. I loved snuggling into her warmth, and I was instantly feeling better being so close to her.

We each sipped or sucked our drinks, and rather than watch TV, we talked, and talked and talked.

Suzanne knew I was still blaming myself for the way the party ended. She tried to convince me that it was the ‘bastard’s’ fault, and not mine. In fact she was in a way so proud and full of admiration for the way that I immediately responded, when I thought Mary was in trouble. But inside I knew it was my own poison.

Suzanne sipped her G & T, while holding the baby bottle to my own mouth. I was in heaven. She then began to play with my hair, running her fingers through. We both decided that using a brush might not be a great idea, pulling on the lump on my forehead.

But then I realised just what a mess I had made of my beautiful new dress; there was lots of blood all over it, as my coughing had actually spread much more on it than we had realised. I was so upset that I had ruined the dress, but Suzanne wasn’t in the least concerned.

“Look let’s slip it off you and I can take it to be cleaned tomorrow.” Suzanne suggested. Once it was off me, and I was better able to inspect the damage, I was horrified, and I was sure I had ruined the prettiest dress I had ever worn. Suzanne consoled me, and tried to point out that it actually was not really that expensive, but she had bought it on a whim after buying the same for Mary. She had thought it would just be a bit of fun to dress us the same for the birthday party. But if it needed replacing she could replace it with a more grown up, sophisticated dress. I didn’t want to have to replace it, not because of the financial impact, but I loved that dress; it was perfect in my eyes. That set the conversation off in a new direction. Suzanne had noted that I was drawn towards more juvenile clothing, and things like drinking from the baby bottle as I was, or wearing diapers, which I was still, under the frilly covers and multi-coloured petticoat wearing together with frilly socks and camisole top. Suzanne gently suggested that not many 18 year old girls would be so content being treated as a baby. Remember then I didn’t know of anything like Adult Babies or the whole community of ABDL, which we now all understand now. To me, at that time, I was the freak, the weirdo. But because of the trust that I had in Suzanne I was willing to bare more of my soul to her than I had ever shared to anyone else. I didn’t actually feel too embarrassed admitting that I preferred cute designs like the dress. As for wearing diapers, of course, at first I really needed them, and they served a useful purpose, but I was able to admit to Suzanne that I experienced such a feeling of security when I was tightly diapered. The nappy didn’t just present a barrier to stop wee leaking out, but it made me feel safer as it was another barrier to stop anything unwanted from the other direction. I loved being Mary’s ‘big sister’ and even if that meant that I was dressed like her, had my hair done in similar fashions or I drank from sippy cups like Mary did, then I was happy to continue to do so. Being fed from the baby bottle while in her arms made me feel so safe and secure. All my troubles and worries in the big scary world would retreat, and I think Suzanne understood what I was trying to explain. I am no different now; if the big scary world ever gets too much for me, then I retreat into my own shell. I stop trying to interact with it. I cut the outside world off. I enter my safe, little space. I don’t have to put my nappies on, or drink from a bottle, I am able to enter my little space entirely through my mind alone. For several years later that is all I could do, but it is certainly what enabled me to survive.

I even explained some of my weird concerns, but I wish I had been able to open up more to Suzanne at that stage. This is where my fantasies came in, and I have decided to keep my own fantasies removed from this story. I will explain them more in a separate chapter, or separate story. But I wish with all my heart I could have been completely honest and open with Suzanne. I felt so special when she babied me, and wanted her to continue to do that to me forever, and not just for this period. I am not sure what her reaction would have been, and at the time, I think I didn’t say anything out of fear it would shock her into stopping altogether. Looking back now I don’t know what her reaction would have been, but I am sure that my concern of being thrown out as some sick weirdo would not have really happened. I would suckle from the baby bottle in her arms, but in my fantasies I would suckle from her boobies, which were right next to me. My favourite position was when Suzanne would feed me from the bottle, with me semi-reclined using her breasts to rest my head against. I don’t think it was a particular sexual feeling then…I was so inexperienced in that area, I was not really able to reach any conclusion in that area. Not only was I a virgin, but I hadn’t actually experienced an orgasm at that stage of my life. But looking back I wish I could have explained more of how I was feeling.

Suzanne listened to my slightly disjointed reasoning and admissions. She responded with such affection and concern, never once humiliating me. She said she understood, and reminded me that it had been her doctor who had suggested that my mental state would be improved by someone babying me a bit. She was happy to continue as we were, and she admired the diaper covers I was still wearing, adjusting the frills, saying that I looked so cute like this anyway. I loved being described as cute and admitted that with all my ugly scars and deformed body, I didn’t think anyone would have ever been able to describe me as cute. Suzanne said I could easily be cute and have scars, and in fact, I could be proud of all my scars as they showed part of my tough journey that I had survived. She sat me up and lifting my camisole at the rear, she admired, actually admired, the scars along my spine and across my hips. She traced them again with her fingertips, and remarked at the contrast between them, my soft, pale skin, and the satin of the diaper covers. It wasn’t sexual, but it was intimate. Again, my own fantasies began to mix the two in my mind, but I am sure there was nothing sexual in Suzanne’s mind or actions. It was a loving touch, but out of care and affection. I would have loved her fingers to explore me everywhere in the same fashion, but it was only my mind which was making these warped steps. It was probably lucky that I was wearing a diaper, otherwise my enjoyment of the experience would have certainly left a mark…. Suzanne agreed to allow me to keep wearing diapers and matching clothing with Mary, I think for two main reasons, but I hope there was a third. The first reason was because it clearly made me happy, and made me feel safer, the second was because it also made Mary happier, as she had a friend, a big sister, who was comfortable to be treated the same. Suzanne very much treated us as sisters, and just spent most of the day talking ‘down’ to us both, not at all in a condescending way, but in a loving way. It was things like, “what are you two up to know?” or “I really don’t know what to do with you both!” In the evenings, she would treat me more as an adult, although still very much in a protective role. The best way to describe this is that during the day, I felt like, acted like, and was treated like, Mary’s older sister. As much as possible, we dressed alike, we ate similar food and drinks. Because Suzanne was doing this, then it was inevitable that people around us should follow her lead and do much the same, so waiters and shop assistants would also talk down to us. If we went to a café or restaurant then Suzanne would always be given the main menu and wine list, I would just about always be given a kiddie menu, and Mary would get a smile! But then in the evenings, the conversation always became more grown up, but often it was Suzanne leading the conversation, like a older sister to her much younger, but also adult, sister. So we would talk politics (which is really important in South Africa), but also about celebrities and certain clothing that we wanted or new hairstyles and the like.

But the conversation did turn around, if not directly to sex, but to my own social life, if not love life, both of which were, and always had been completely empty and absent. Suzanne pointed out that I would have little chance attracting others if I continued dressing as a toddler or baby, but I really had no interest in doing so. I admitted that my whole life now revolved around her, and Mary. I really did have no interest in any sort of sexual or even alternate friendship. I explained to her that I was happier now than I had ever been in my life. I tried to explain how my childhood years were all imprinted with the notion that I was an unwanted extra, that just caused problems or got in the way of everyone. This is a lesson I have carried with me for the rest of my life; there is nothing better than waking up surrounded by people who want you there and love you for who you are. Mary knew no resistance to her emotions. If she felt happy or sad, angry or frustrated then it was evident from her facial expressions and her mannerisms. She didn’t even have to say anything. Suzanne was much the same; her easy expression of love and affection when she would first see Mary and me in the morning was so enriching, so wonderful, and yet sadly so unfamiliar to me. What the three of us had in that house at that time was so special, so rare. If I could bottle it, or find the recipe, then I had the answer for world peace. Yes, I was beginning to have fantasies, and many of them of a very sexual nature, but I had been so repressed for so long, there is probably little surprise. Looking back, the fact that so many centred around Suzanne being a dominant role in those fantasies was also not really surprising too. She was the first adult who had ever shown me love, she was incredibly beautiful and elegant, and she was always very much in charge. I had all I could ever dream of.

We continued hugging and her fingertips kept their journeying around my back and chatting. She told me how fortunate she felt that I had arrived and the role I had taken on in their lives. She understood that I felt I was learning so much from her, but she also explained that she had learned things from me, and she described how the two recent events with Mary, in the hospital and later in the doctor’s surgery when I had taken charge of the situation as I pronounced it to be “unfair”. I was right, and in both cases I had proved I was right, in front of many professional adults. She told me she admired my stance and the way I had taken charge of the situation when it mattered. I was then able to explain that I was not so comfortable with the situation where I was pretending to receive an injection. I felt that made me to be a fraud, and it wasn’t fair again to Mary. Really, to be fair, I ought to receive a real injection too. Initially Suzanne tried to disagree, but in the end she promised to have a word with the doctor, as she understood that the whole concept of fairness was really important to me. Clearly, I couldn’t have the same medication as Mary, but perhaps the doctor would be willing to just inject a saline solution or something, if only to answer my need for ‘fairness’.

We actually ended up talking way later than when I usually went to bed. Suzanne informed me the next morning, but she also pointed out another benefit of keeping me in diapers for a bit longer, as I had fallen sound asleep in her arms, and she was confident that I was not suffering any problems from banging my head as all the signs had been normal, and my breathing once asleep was not laboured. She had carried me to my bed and just slipped the petticoat and my socks off before pulling my duvet over me. She did check on me regularly throughout the night though.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 22, 2021 at 8:00 PM
Content:

BelGeorge said:

@babyann,
I love to read your story, despite all the difficult and unfair elements that you have experienced in your life.
You write it so beautifully, and knowing that everything really happened makes it one of the best stories I've been able to read here on this site.

I think it's a good choice to write down the fantasies you had/have in a separate story, and I'll be just as interested in reading that too.

[End of quote]

Thank you George, although I feel I am a really long way from writing beautifully. I just feel compelled (and encouraged, by comments like yours) to try to share the emotions of that time, otherwise they would be “lost like tears in rain”, and I fear that might break my heart. The fantasies are more difficult to extract from the story…for me…. I have always had fantasies, right from my earliest memories. We didn’t have TV at home as a child, but once I could read, I would read everything. These would also feed my fantasies. I would write out these fantasies in my diaries, and if I read some of the early ones now, it can be even difficult to separate what really happened, and what only happened in my mind. I mean I know I didn’t go off on the back of a beautiful horse, to live with the leopards in the mountains…I might have been encouraged by Rudyard Kipling there anyway…. But there are several passages, one where I am taken to an African wedding held in the bush, but I can’t think who would have taken me, or who got married…. But I have asked people and some of the intricate details that I had written do actually happen. I can only think that someone else told me of their own experience, and somehow I stole it as my own, but I can’t even think who would have told me. The same happens here…I have had intense fantasies, that I regularly re-visit in my mind, even to this day, so when I re-live them in my mind, I know what is going to happen next…it’s like deja-vu but also not like it. I honestly do not think my brain is wired the same as anyone else’s. It never was, but then I certainly was not the right person to take hard drugs…that messes anyone’s mind up! But mine was messed up already. So the fantasies are just as important, to me. But I don’t want to cheapen the events for others. But I do think it is important that people can understand what was going through my mind at the time. I don’t think I have that right yet. I did feel undeserving of the affection I was shown, and I also lived under the foreboding premonition that I would somehow bring it all crashing down. I am not sure…I might just do the fantasies, as separate chapters that people can skip if they choose, but I feel I may have to do them before bringing this to its conclusion. I can’t write any more of the last chapter, until I am somewhere safe, with someone to pick me up afterwards. I am not saying this to make anyone feel sorry for me, please don’t be. The reasons for this are all selfish, in many ways…well not selfish exactly, self-centred maybe…. I am the only person who wants to write this whole story, because I am the only person who can write this whole story. Aside from the fantasies, and my diaries (which I was too scared to open), the time had gone. Somehow my diaries have survived my weird life, through all its odd twists and turns, they survived because they are totally worthless to anyone else. Anything that I had owned of any value was either stolen or sold by me for drugs. I also experimented with different codes, some of which I had completely forgotten about too, and there are pages and pages of complete nonsense. There are even some drawings which I don’t remember doing…some drawings I can clearly remember almost each stroke of the pencil, they are so imprinted…but then the next sketch could have been done by someone else entirely. It is all a bit messed up.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 23, 2021 at 7:00 AM
Content: Kerry, you say such kind, supportive messages. I recently had a birthday, earlier this month, where I was shocked to discover that i have been on this planet for 46 years…. even though I know I am only 2 and a bit inside!! So yes, this all happened quite some time ago. What makes it all the more weird (to me at least) this was all happening in a new country. Or at least one being reborn. Nelson Mandela became our first president of the new, free South Africa. There was a lot going on. In the small, Afrikaans town where we lived there was a fear that the town would be over run any minute and a bloody civil war would start. I found out by accident that Suzanne had been a member of the Black Sash for many years before. But I only had eyes for those 2 people in my life. I will never fully recover from losing them. But please don’t be sad or concerned for me. I am in a much better place mentally, and am beside myself with excitement as I am heading down to Cape Town today! We will stop overnight somewhere and only get there tomorrow. My only worry is that I have never met the people I am travelling with, and I always start to regress with excitement once we get close to Mommy’s house. So they will know by this time tomorrow. But Mommy might have already told them as She knows them quite well. Hopefully I can then stop being totally pathetic to finish the final chapter this next week.

but I really need you to know how much of a positive impact your messages have on me. The whole thing is only readable because of your gentle guiding messages and support. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 23, 2021 at 9:50 AM
Content: Woo hoo!! I am waiting for my lift now!! I am sooooooooooo excited! Mommy has told them all about me. I mean ALL about me. i can’t wait to get there…apparently all the Cape mountains are dusted in snow. We can drive non-stop as the couple are both medics, and are actually going down to help with parts of the vaccination roll out in Cape Town, so they have permission to break the curfew that is in place across the country. I was going to offer to help drive, but apparently it is a big motorhome thingy, and I haven’t driven anything bigger than a VW Golf! So I hope it has a kitchen, and I can make us coffee and tea and things as we travel. I feel like I am really escaping from a prison!! Which is the thing to do when in South Africa!!

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 24, 2021 at 10:06 AM
Content: nearly there! what a journey! this is my first trip in an RV. this is the way to travel / live!! it even has Wi Fi. i am battling not to regress as we are soooo close now. but little me is bursting to get out and yell and jump and scream with delight. escaped!!!!!!!!!!

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 26, 2021 at 7:06 AM
Content: Some last chapters coming consecutively.

Chapter 17. Holidays

This fabulous life continued for some months, life was just filled with love, joy and affection. It would be boring to just repeat the same story over and over, but the next few months were wonderful, special days. I have picked out a couple of incidents outside the normal, but it was day after day of the same routine. Not ever boring. We went away on a holiday at one point. We had such an amazing, happy time together.

But going away meant that our doctor could not give Mary her injections, and Suzanne had to take over that responsibility. Suzanne was understandably very concerned about injecting her own child, and it had been decided that she should practice giving them first under the watchful eye of our doctor. Again, my big mouth volunteered my body, before my small mind could interrupt. I suggested that she use me for target practice initially, before having to inject the more fragile Mary. As it turned out, Suzanne was supremely capable, as she was at anything she tried, and I could not tell any difference between Suzanne’s hands or the doctor’s hands.

We had decided that we should all share the same room at the hotel, and Suzanne had thought that she had booked a twin room with a cot, but they actually put us all in an amazing suite, with a huge double bed, and a little travel cot. After a rather disturbed night on the very first night, probably because of the strange surroundings of the hotel room, Suzanne decided that we would all spend the night together in the huge double bed. After Mary had been cleaned and we had played a bit, she would be placed in the middle of the bed. Suzanne and I would then move onto the balcony outside, and we talked and talked. As the sun set, and it became cooler, we snuggled up together under a blanket and talked some more. Listening to the waves crash onto the beach. Only when it was really late did we move inside and join Mary on either side in the huge bed. I can still vividly remember one morning, waking up to see two smiling faces staring straight at me. Apparently Mary had woken first and had already woken Suzanne up, but she was not allowed to wake me up by touching me, they woke me up by mind control. They had both been staring at me, trying to get me to wake up!

It was on that trip or straight afterwards, that Suzanne tried to get me to see a psychologist, or a therapist or similar. I often toss around a lot in my sleep, and have always had a problem with sleep talking (or sleep babbling as someone dear to me now describes it). Apparently it sounds like I am having a continual frustrating argument with someone, and this will go on for some time, with me getting increasingly worked up. I rarely have any recollection of any dream, but I understand it can be concerning for anyone listening to me while I sleep. Of course, volunteering to go and see anyone medical was never going to happen for me.

We had to keep Mary out of the worst of the vicious African sun; she had very pale delicate skin, which would easily burn. So when we did venture onto the beach it was only for quite short periods, and Suzanne and I would be continually covering Mary in sunblock. Suzanne turned into a beautiful bronzed model, and she would take moments throughout the day to worship the sun. I was nervous about burning, and did burn my shoulders and my nose one day. Suzanne had bought me a beautiful swimming costume, which even though I didn’t have the figure to fill it, I thought made me feel really sophisticated. Of course, I was safe from most prying eyes as everyone would openly stare at Suzanne, who would wear skimpy bikinis which actually comprised of hardly any material at all. I was starting to shave my body at that time, but Suzanne tried to encourage me to have the electrolysis that she did, which just stopped any further growth of body hair.

But I did have one unfortunate episode on the beach. We had just arrived and had already covered Mary in sunblock as well as raised our sun umbrellas to stop even more sun from hitting Mary. Suzanne was sat with Mary between her legs, and so she suggested that I should take the opportunity to go for a swim, or at least a paddle. The beach at Durban is famous around the world, it has lovely sand, warm water from the Indian Ocean, but quite big waves, and there were many surfboards and cool surfer dudes in the beach and in the surf. I would only venture out to about knee or, at most, waist deep and jump in the little waves as they broke onto the beach. Usually there were many young kids in that area bouncing about and having fun in the waves. We would watch the dudes on their surfboards further out. I suppose I was feeling quite grown up and sophisticated not wearing diapers, but in my smart trendy swimming costume. But then my CP conspired again to humiliate me. Even though the waves were quite small, and had mostly lost all their power further out to sea, they still seemed to contain enough energy to cause problems. I had just jumped over one wave, when the one behind hit me, bowling me over and over. Each time I tried to stand another wave would slam into me. In the process I managed to breath in a massive amount of water into my lungs, which caused me to cough and splutter, fighting to breathe as each wave knocked me about. Finally, I felt some strong arms around me and I was lifted up so the waves were not able to batter me down again. I coughed up a lot of foul salt water, out of my mouth and nose. The commotion somehow managed to re-arrange my costume, and the upper part of it was around my midriff, exposing not just my tiny breasts but also all the scars on my back. The commotion and possibly shouts had attracted everyone’s attention. As I looked around everyone’s eyes were on me, with looks of either revulsion or ridicule on them. At least that was how I translated them. The burly arms carried me out of the surf, and deposited me on the sand. A voice connected to the arms suggested that my Mommy should not let me play in the dangerous surf like that. I hastily re-arranged my costume, and rushed back to Suzanne and Mary. Suzanne had witnessed the entire episode, but had been unable to help me as she needed to stay with Mary. She did try to downplay it, as she said it all actually happened quite quickly, and my ‘saviour’, the owner of the burly arms had got to me very quickly. She also tried to convince me that not many people had noticed, and possibly their looks were more of pity from being knocked about by the waves than anything else. But I was convinced with what I saw, and kept the towel wrapped firmly around me, hiding from any pitying glances. That was the last time I ventured into the sea, and possibly the last time I wore the swimming costume, preferring to model my attire on Mary, as she would wear much more skin covering.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 26, 2021 at 7:16 AM
Content: Chapter 18: Church and Grown Up Evenings

A couple of other things happened just as blips in those months of happiness and joy. The first happened soon after the birthday. I don’t know if it was a suggestion from her father, but in my mind, I always made a connection between the two. Suddenly, we began going to church. So on a Sunday morning, Mary and I were dressed alike in smart dresses, with our hair in tidy bunches with ribbons. Suzanne would dress also very smartly, and we would drive, or often walk, to the local church. I had only been inside a church on a couple of occasions, so everything inside was strange and foreign to me. I found it a scary, forbidding place. We would sit, as a unit, on long hard benches towards the rear of the church. This was an Afrikaans church, and it struck me that there were only clean, white faces in the church. Afrikaans is just another language; it was born in Africa from mostly Dutch roots, with a mixture of other languages scattered throughout it. But, even now, Afrikaans carries history with it for me. It is the language that my biological mother used to berate me, the language that all my teachers had used to scold me, and the language most kids used to tease me. To other people it is the language of Apartheid. It was the language used by the white government in this country before Nelson Mandela became our president. So I guess my barriers were automatically drawn up. Suzanne also seemed to withdraw slightly in that environment, becoming more serious, with less smiles.

Initially, we were encouraged to go with the other children into a separate room, but neither I nor Mary wanted to leave Suzanne’s side in that scary environment. I had an added reason as I recognised several faces from the school I used to attend, and I had no desire to spend a second in their company anywhere. So we would try to sit quietly next to her. Several times we would have to be told off for making too much noise, or giggling at the wrong moments, usually it just took a look of disapproval from Suzanne. I didn’t really listen to all the words being spoken as few of them made any real sense to me. Some of the prayers, I could recognise from different school assemblies, but I really spent all my time concentrating on keeping Mary happy, but quiet. These two, together, are difficult to achieve as Mary was used to being able to express her moods through noise. But we made it through each service mostly unscathed. I did notice both Mary and my name being mentioned as special people to pray for, and all the adults would give us those pitiful looks. The dominee would come around and give funny little discs (a sort of bread I was later told) and a sip of wine from a metal goblet thing to all the adults. He would press his hand on my head mumbling something, and then try to do the same to Mary, who would usually recoil from such unusual behaviour. It was all a bit strange, and not at all friendly, the atmosphere in the church. Many of the adults would put on a clearly false show of friendship at the beginning and end of the service, but it all felt forced to me. Once, embarrassingly at the end, Mary and I were invited to blow out the many candles that were burning around the church. Mary could not blow out candles, and Suzanne and I knew we had to ‘help’ her, but there we were not allowed and they tried to make her blow out the candle on her own, which I found just humiliating for Mary. Then, without warning, the dominee picked me up so I could blow out a couple of the candles found higher up. But in doing so he bunched my dress up under my arms, and exposed my clearly diapered bottom to anyone still in the church. I really didn’t like that, but all that seemed to happen was that we just got even more of those patronising looks of pity from the different adults there, as the two little disabled kids.

Suzanne also told me later that we stopped going after some nasty comments were made to her about the two little disabled kids that she had to look after. She was really upset by that as she explained to me that she felt she was the fortunate one to have Mary and me in her world, and that there was no “had to” or that looking after us was some sort of penance.

Another blip was actually at the other end of the scale. Suzanne had invited a couple of friends from her time in the airlines for a meal. Well, she had really only invited one of them, as she had previously had a romantic fling with him. As I have explained earlier, Suzanne was completely bisexual, and was just has happy to spend time with male or female companions. Anyway, on this occasion two young males had been invited, and they clearly viewed this as a double date. Suzanne had suggested quite a sophisticated outfit for me to wear, and obviously nappies or pull-ups were not advised this time. We had discussed and even practiced the different courses we were going to offer them. Suzanne took time to choose suitable wines to go with each course. Clearly, Suzanne was out to impress! The ‘boys’ arrived in time to meet Mary, before I took her to bed, reading her a short story, before she drifted off to sleep. I joined the other three in the living room, who were consuming gin and tonics while reminiscing about different people from the airline. I declined a drink, but busied myself helping Suzanne bring the first course to the table. It was very clear that Suzanne and her old fling were hitting it off, and there was a lot of flirting going on between the pair of them. Unfortunately, the other guest assumed that he was on a double date, and while it was quite shocking (but a little pleasing) to be the centre of an adult’s attention, he was not really my type. I say that, but to be honest, at that stage I had no idea what my ‘type’ was. But let’s just say that while I was flattered of the attention, the attraction was only one way. But nevertheless, I didn’t want to spoil Suzanne’s evening or plans, and I tried to be a polite co-host, ensuring that plates were cleared and the different courses were brought out of the oven and brought to the table, with Suzanne. I also kept everyone’s wine glasses topped up. I first thought there was going to be a problem when a stray hand found it’s way onto my leg as I was pouring some wine, nearly causing me to spill it. I was completely out of my depth in that environment, and found his approach to be really disconcerting. I didn’t want to be rude and tell him to stop, which might spoil the whole evening, but I really didn’t want him to continue like that. In the end, even though Suzanne was having a great time, she was keeping an eye on our end of the table, and she did have a quiet, but firm word with my ‘date’ to tell him to calm it down a bit, and to keep his hands to himself. She could see that I was increasingly uncomfortable, and tried to politely explain that he was probably out of luck this evening. Unlike his friend, as soon after the meal, Suzanne and her own date excused themselves to her bedroom. I explained our TV controls to the other boy, while I cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. His nose was rather put out, and he obviously was not going to offer to assist me. Once finished I came through to offer him a coffee or a brandy, and he chose a brandy. So I returned with a cup of coffee for myself, and a brandy for him. The alcohol maybe gave him some more courage or he somehow thought he could win me over, but he decided to try his luck again. Rather than being happy just having a conversation he suggested putting some music back on that we could dance to. I really can’t dance, and declined this suggestion, and he became quite forceful asking me why I didn’t fancy him. Eventually he actually became quite rude, suggesting that someone who looked like me ought to be thankful that someone like him was even remotely interested. Our conversation then went into increasingly belligerent terms and certainly his volume increased. In the end I was actually thankful that he disturbed Mary, so I had a valid excuse to leave the room, and his company, to go to Mary’s room. I stayed there as I heard Suzanne and her partner leave her bedroom to go into the living room. I gently soothed Mary back to sleep kneeling next to her bed, as I heard voices being raised again in the living room, followed by steps and the slamming of the front door. Only then did I venture out, to find Suzanne in her nightgown crying into her hands on the sofa. Immediately assuming that one or both of our dates had said something awful to her too, I rushed to her, hugging her. I could smell her date’s cologne on her mingled with her own perfume. She hugged me back.

“I am so sorry for putting you in that position Ann,” she wept, “he was a quite horrible little man.”

I responded with my own apologies, “but I am sorry because we spoiled your own evening, Suzanne”

Suzanne told me that I didn’t have to apologise, and that I should never stand for the sort of behaviour that had been shown me. She said it was completely out of order for anyone not to understand the simple word ‘no’. Her date had been apparently even more incensed that his supposed friend had spoilt his own evening and brought an end to his own ‘activities’. She was pretty sure that it was going to be an unpleasant journey home for the pair of them. She later joked that because it had been a male friend there had been more than enough time for him to have ‘completed his duties’. I didn’t really understand what she meant at that stage, but laughed with her nonetheless. At least I wasn’t being held responsible for the spoiled evening.

It was some time before we tried another, similar date, but this time there were only females around the table. This time 4 people were invited, and I was able to experience a much nicer, more romantic approach from one of the girls. Nothing really happened more than a little bit of kissing, but those experiences went a long way to shaping my future. My problem was that all my fantasies were centred on one particular female at the table, Suzanne, rather than any of the guests.

But Mary’s health was becoming the main concern, and our socialising came to a fairly quick end. Mary never complained, but we were quick to react to any change in her appetite or sleeping patterns. There were more and more frequent visits to the doctor’s surgery and also to the hospital. Some of the medications she was given had different side effects too, which could be problematic to deal with.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 26, 2021 at 3:22 PM
Content: Chapter 19: The End

This final chapter has been the most difficult to write. It has lots of potential triggers in it, and I have anguished long and hard whether I ought to post this here. If I do, it is to close the circle. In a lot of ways I don’t want people to read it. I don’t want people to comment on it. It is just the full stop to that time in my life. There is no other purpose, and please don’t bother to read it if you could be triggered by references to suicide, eating disorders, rape, mental health issues, drug dependency. This isn’t in any way ‘nice’.

I am in a happy place now. This has been completed with my Mommy’s help and support. I also wrote this partly for Her. She knows She is not any sort of replacement for Suzanne and Mary in my life, but She has given my life purpose again. I did want Her to understand my journey to this point. I also wanted people to know of Suzanne and Mary (even though they are not their real names). They were very special, good people. I still love them both.

Things progressed very rapidly, as it happened. Far too rapidly to process then, or now.

I can’t even remember if it was just another regular visit to the doctor, or if we had been called in. By now the doctor had got to know our tight little unit so well. Even if I was not being measured or weighed myself, there was never any question that I should wait outside. The doctor had been doing her usual tests and suddenly her whole demeanour changed. There was a rushed conversation between her and Suzanne. Suddenly we were being rushed back out into the car, and heading to the hospital. I could see this was serious as all the colour had drained from Suzanne’s face. We rushed into the hospital. But this time I wasn’t allowed in with the other two, and I started a long wait. I had no idea then that I would never see Mary again.

At the end of the day, a thoroughly drained and pale Suzanne came to collect me and we headed home in silence. I had a thousand questions to ask her, but I felt that I needed to give Suzanne time and space for her to process everything happening. But the explanation never came. The silence continued when we got home. As it was late I suggested that I could cook us something, and I did make something simple, but neither of us ate much. The silence was awful, but it was to continue for days.

Suzanne excused herself and went to bed early, and a pattern emerged. She would remain almost entirely silent and retire to her room early. I would listen to soft sobbing coming from her room. I felt powerless. I did try to hug her at different times, but it was like trying to hug a cold wall. All I was told was that Mary was very poorly and her internal organs were failing. I desperately wanted to visit her, but I was told that she was in ICU, and I would not be allowed. I did give Suzanne a couple of Mary’s favourite teddy bears for Mary which did raise a small, fleeting smile from Suzanne. I would spend the day in silence, waiting for Suzanne to return. I tried praying to any god that might listen and offered them all my own life, if only Mary could survive. Then the phone rang and my stomach fell. I answered with shaking hands. It was Suzanne, but not with the news we both feared, and even had become to expect, short of literally some miracle. Suzanne called to say she would be staying overnight.

I waited in more silence.

I was waiting, in silence, as a strange car pulled into the drive, the next morning. I recognised the dour figure of Mary’s father step out and I didn’t understand what was happening until I watched him go to the back door and help Suzanne out. It was clear that the worst had happened. I remained rooted to the spot, unable to move as Suzanne was helped to the house by her parents. I heard them walk her straight into her bedroom.

I was still stood in the same spot looking out of the window, when her father came in. In Afrikaans he announced, “the child is dead. Our daughter has been given something to help her sleep.” Silence. I didn’t have a response. He then continued, “my wife and I would like some tea. Rooibos. Both with one sugar.” Like a robot I made them tea, no joose, no biscuits. For some strange reason I went back to where I had been standing. Maybe hoping this was all a mistake and if I went back to how it was before it would change the news. It didn’t. They came and drank their tea and I removed the empties.

Suzanne’s parents told me that they would be staying and sleeping in my room, so I should move out, or sleep in Mary’s room. There was no way on earth I could have even stepped into Mary’s room then, let alone sleep in there. I didn’t even own a bag in which to put my possessions, or a place to go to, other than back with my biological mother.

I did walk back to my biological mother’s house, but had already made my mind up that I wasn’t going to be able to stay there. I didn’t want my nice new clothing to be contaminated. But I was also really afraid of where my poison would strike next. There was no one in the house, and it was locked, but I knew how to break in. My room had clearly been used by other people in my absence. I looked for some of my secret stashes of items, but many where gone. I did pick up a small backpack that I had once been given for school, and put what few precious items I had in it. I rummaged around in the kitchen until I found an address for my oldest brother, who lived far away in Durban. I didn’t know if he still lived there, but pocketed the information.

I ended up knocking on one of my former babysitting client’s house and asking if I could possibly rent a room for a few days until the funeral. I am sure they could see how desperate I was, and I was immediately shown a room, where I hid. I declined any offer to eat with the family, and kept the children, in particular, at arms length. The mother did leave food and drinks for me, and I do remember trying to eat some of it.

In the mornings I would leave early, so I didn’t have to talk to anyone there, and would just walk around, until I thought it was a reasonable time to go to Suzanne’s house. Strangely I don’t remember crying much; the pain was too big.

Suzanne’s parents would let me in and just treated me as the hired help. Suzanne would rarely appear out of her room. She was crumpled, deflated. She was always wearing dark glasses, and the same dark glasses never left her face. Her eyes were hidden. I wanted and needed to hug her and be hugged. But I waited for her move, which never came. Once she did sit with me on the sofa, the same sofa which we had spent long evenings talking about the world, and she held my hand, for the longest time, but there was a barrier between us. She would sigh, as though she was about to say something, but nothing came out. I tried to send her some of my strength through our hands, but I could not get through. The glasses meant I could not see her eyes. I wish I had had the courage then to tell her how much I loved her, but instead we just sat in silence.

I would then make cups of tea, Rooibos. One sugar for her parents, and make, but never drink, tea for myself and Suzanne. Neighbours and friends came around, with food packages and I made them tea too. The dominee came, and he and his wife got tea as well. The doctor came and she was the only person who seemed to realise the pain that I was in. I remember her hugging me and taking me into the garden to talk, away from prying ears. She told me she understood how I must be feeling, but that I should give Suzanne time and space to grieve and that Suzanne would let me know when it was time to hug. The doctor gave me her own contact numbers, both at her practice and her cell phone. She was the only person I knew with a cell phone, and I do remember worrying that I wouldn’t be able to call her as I didn’t have a cell phone then.

Then the funeral. Which was awful. I sat at the back of the church, trying not to think of Mary’s body inside that small coffin. Suzanne slumped between her parents was an equally tragic vision. The doctor saw me at the church and sat with me, and then gave me a lift back to Suzanne’s house. Then we drank more tea. Someone there, maybe the dominee, tried to explain to me that his god had decided that he needed Mary in heaven and to ‘end her suffering her on earth’. I told him that Mary did not suffer, and I hated his god for taking Mary away, as we needed her here.

Finally, maybe a day or two after the funeral. Suzanne came into the kitchen where I was probably making tea, or cleaning tea cups. “I can’t deal with this, so I am going away for a while. I don’t know how long for.” she said behind her dark glasses. She then turned on her heels and left my life. I had written a long multi-page letter to her, which I slid under her door. It said how sad I was that Mary had died. It said how thankful I was to her and Mary for the best year of my life. It said I would love them both for ever and ever. I hope she did read it. I could not step into Mary’s room to say goodbye, but I remember kissing her door, Suzanne’s bedroom door, and the front door of the house.

I went to my room and packed what I could into the one tiny bag I had, and left. I caught a bus to Durban that day. At one stop on route the driver caught me working out how to put my head under the rear wheels to kill myself. I told him I had dropped something, but he kept a close eye on me for the rest of the trip.

I did find my brother’s house, but he and his girlfriend made it clear that I could only stay for a short time. I moved from there to other places, each one seemingly a step down. I continued making some income from babysitting in Durban, but I was careful not to form any bonds with anyone, in case they also got infected with my ‘poison’. At that stage I still had quite a bit of money in my account, from Suzanne, but it soon evaporated. Soon I needed to find other ways to earn some money.

I ended up being a drug mule; the police would very rarely stop a young, white female in South Africa in those days, and if they did, it was explained to me that a hand job or a blow job would avoid any arrest. That became a game of Russian Roulette as AIDS swept through the drug community and then the police. The one fortunate outcome was the police would tend to only ask for hand jobs rather than blow jobs. I don’t remember when I first started using drugs myself, but I quickly became hooked. I fear the genes my biological mother gave me, makes me an easy target to become an addict. Another suicide attempt saw me in hospital.

A later arrest also meant incarceration, a criminal record, but thankfully a chance to clean up, although if anyone tries to tell you that prison’s don’t have a huge drug problem then they are completely wrong. I did at least get some medical attention for a whole host of issues that I was harbouring by that time.

I even ended up back at my biological mother’s house. She made it clear I had brought it all on myself. It was a deep hole to climb out of. But I did, eventually, and I am a survivor.

I did once go to Suzanne’s house, but there was another family there, and they had no forwarding address. I found the doctor though, who had turned completely grey in the many years since we had last met. She was able to tell me that Suzanne had eventually emigrated to New Zealand, to try to rebuild her life, but sadly had since died. I didn’t need to ask what she died of; I knew it was a broken heart. I had suffered similar damage to my own heart, and the wounds, and subsequent holes are still there. My Mommy has never tried to fill those holes, but treats them with the due respect they deserve. But She did find a whole new chamber to my heart, which I never knew existed. I know I will carry this damage with me, like my other scars of life, to my grave. I have already told Mommy that I am to be buried next to my wonderful Mary, but I am not quite ready to join her yet. I no longer take any drugs, I don’t smoke or drink at all. Mommy makes sure I take all my pills each day, and I am careful what I eat, and have some target weights I would like to reach. Mommy encouraged me to seek a therapist, and that has also been a great help for me in recent years. I hope anyone who, like I was, is nervous about seeing a therapist, please don’t be. Find a good one, even try a few, until you find one you can trust. They can’t fix everything, but they can really help. Between the therapist and Mommy’s love, I know I am not poison, but sometimes ‘shit happens’ to us all. There doesn’t have to be a reason for it.

This is Ann’s Mommy. She gave me her text, & asked me to upload it onto the end of her previous chapters. She is safe, so please don’t concern yourselves about her. I gave her a sleeping pill with her bottle, & she is now curled up, fast asleep. I have been very impressed with the lovely support that people have given her here. I think this might be the one corner of the internet where people are supportive & kind to one another. After everything that I have learned from babyann about the ABDL community, I should not be in the least surprised.

This whole story has been an important project for babyann. But it has taken an awful toll on her mental state. She will tell anyone that listens, including herself, that she is a fragile little baby. But in this, she is completely wrong. She is incredibly tough & resilient and has lived through some dreadful passages in her life, that lesser mortals would not have survived. She has been driven to transcribe these events from her diaries, & I can understand why. Reading this final chapter has been most upsetting. To watch the torment that she went through writing was almost unbearable for me. This little lady has tremendous resolve when she puts her mind to it. She was determined to complete it before she did anything else.

I am hoping that this will enable her to find proper closure & catharsis. I will wrap her up in cotton wool for a few days now, & only allow her to resurface when I feel she is good & ready. The good news I can share with her is that she has a covid 19 vaccination appointment on Thursday, which I will take her to. I have some other nice surprises planned for her. Please be gentle with her when she does return. She is a remarkable young lady. Her beauty is much more than skin deep. I have no doubt that she formed an incredible triumvirate of kindness & care with those other 2 females, & that one day she will realize that they also deserved her in their lives as much as she did them.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 28, 2021 at 8:52 AM
Content: Hello again. I did survive!! i have been allowed to get up. i think we can now draw a line through this story. Job done. Thank you to all of the people (especially kerry, who has provided a lot of support throughout this difficult exercise). I am pleased that I managed to do that, and their memories are known to others.

There will be a follow up story of sorts, due to a challenge. It has been suggested that I need to put the conversation we had around our dining table and afterwards, as a sort of Epilogue. So, I will do that but as a separate post. The challenge came from someone close to me here (OK, it was Mommy!!) to explain to everyone here that I am in a good, safe space now. There is also a certain amount of humiliation involved as a punishment for the fantasy story too. I hope you will like it.

this is babyann from Matching Mary signing off! (I am in a silly mood because I have just found out I am getting my first vaccine shot tomorrow!!)

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Jul 28, 2021 at 12:42 PM
Content:

BelGeorge said:

I think I understand why this final chapter was so hard to write and post.
I read this story from day 1 and it is truly exceptional. The final chapter should not be missing.

@babyann, I find it reassuring to read that you have found love again, and that you are doing well in general (without drugs, alcohol and other possible addictions).
Hopefully you'll be writing more stories here, true stories (about your "Mommy" and "her baby"?) or fiction, because it's clear you have the talent for it.

[End of quote]

Thank you @BelGeorge. The last chapter wasn’t nice to do at all, but I think it ought to be there just for completeness.

I have added one story this morning to show I am now in a good place again. It does include My Mommy, but this is likely to be the first and only story which includes Her. She gave permission for that story, in fact She challenged me to write it, to show people I am in a good place again in my life. But otherwise She does not want me to post stories about Her or our direct relationship, and I must respect that. But I would like to post some more stories (but not as racy as the fantasy one i wrote!), so maybe I will annoy and bore people some more here…

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Oct 20, 2021 at 10:09 AM
Content:

RainbowConnection said:

I know I am late to respond. I am sorry I could not see it through at the time you wrote it; I was dealing with some difficult things at the time, and I did not know how I would react to the end of this otherwise beautiful story. I do not want to accidentally reopen any old wounds, since I know you have resolved this particular story. I do not know what to say that could even remotely befit the occasion.

So I want to thank you, Ann. Thank you so much for sharing this with us. You have allowed us into a personal, vulnerable place so that we may see you. You have written about all that is human, and so we see ourselves, too. Like a mirror, your story makes us reflect upon the ideas, the pain, the struggle, the conquest. The joy. The light at the end of the tunnel. The light that comes with us, or stays beside us. And we felt these things. I felt them. I have cried, gotten angry, and smiled reading your story. I felt the loneliness in your words. I felt the happiness in others. You have connected all of us in a way I don't think anyone could have expected.

Again, I don't really know what to say. I am man of very little brain, as it would be. But I do want you to know that you are very strong. For all that you have endured, but also for sharing your story with us. It was a story for people who have holes in their heart that might never be filled. It was a story about affirming the existence of love, its bittersweetness, its ability to redefine everything we thought we knew. It was a story about you and the ones who loved you, and no one else could have written it.

I hope all is well, Ann. I wish all the best, for you and your Mommy.

Best regards,

R.J.

[End of quote]

Dear R.J., thank you for those incredibly well thought through, kind words. My intention was to record in some public way, the lives of two beautiful human beings and the profound impact that they had on my life. It has also served as a really useful way of explaining my past to my new family, my Mommy literally and figuratively held my hand, and held me together through this whole experience of writing it. i now know She has encouraged other members of Her family to read this too. i hope too, that it might be helpful to other people here. My life has been a series of intense highs and lows, and for the longest time i had assumed that i was personally responsible for the ends of the highs and therefore the depths of the lows. Of course i was not, and i understand that now. But true happiness can be found, even after facing the worst lows to the levels that I tried to kill myself. If anyone does suffer from suicidal thoughts, then please, please, please reach out and get some professional help. Finding a good therapist has enabled and empowered me, in ways i could not have imagined.

i am in the happiest most wonderful place right now, and completely in love with a person who wants to spend the rest of their life with me. We are planning a big ceremony, once we get through this awful pandemic. Taking the time to read through and to write up my scribbles at the time has been a (mostly) good experience for me. At my therapist‘s suggestion, and with close support from Mommy, we are even planning to visit Mary’s grave in the near future. i want to take some flowers and maybe something else. i want to make sure that everything is as it should be there, and so Mommy knows too. That will be a big day for me, and i know i will need time and help before and after. But, importantly, i have that help in my life now. i don’t deserve this love, to be in this special place…but then i didn’t deserve to be sent to jail or to be repeatedly raped and abused by a whole range of different people (including police officers). Life doesn’t work like that, i know that now. i also know i am not poison either. If this story can bring a little bit of hope or happiness or understanding to even one other person then that would be nice.

thank you again for your kind words.

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Oct 20, 2021 at 11:06 AM
Content:

lukanowkitzki7741 said:

Dear Ann,

You are a truly gifted writer and story teller!! This is one of the most gripping and powerful stories I have ever heard in any art form. Plays, opera, novels, abdl short stories ect. I am so glad that these two people brought you so much profound happiness and joy and a true sense of belonging. You truly did a great job capturing their spirit in this piece. I have never met you but as someone who has lived with chronic pain and is only 25 and has had multiple hip surgeries I can only partially understand what you have gone through. It sounds like you have overcome so much and have an incredibly warm and generous spirit. I am sorry for your loss. I am not a believer but I hope their love and your memories of them radiate through you every single day. I have been going through a lot recently but reading something like this helps so much. I have recently lost a mentor. He was someone who became a grandfather to me. Hopefully your writing genius will continue to strike again.

Warmly,

Luka

[End of quote]

Dear Luka, thank you for your kind comments. i can’t agree that i am a gifted writer, but i had lots of excellent support both on here, and at home. i am pleased that now other people will know what special people they were. i am sorry to learn of your own pain and troubles, and recent loss. i am also not a believer, but…there is a part of those important people that lives on. They live on in our hearts, and even actions. i can now, for the first time in a long, long time start to remember the good times with a smile. i do think about them every day. They both taught me things that i will never forget. Recently, i had to tell my Mommy something really, really important, so remembering how Mary would impart important information, i copied her, and i gently cupped Mommy’s face, holding her close directly in front of my own face. i then looked directly into Her eyes, and slowly gave Her the information. i held her there for a moment, until i was sure that the message had been received and understood. It works so well.

Take care,

ann xx

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Oct 29, 2021 at 9:04 AM
Content: Wel

Rafiq said:

I would love if you could write a story on a boy needing pampers, his mum believing he needs them for whatever reason.

[End of quote]

well, i could try…but why don’t you give it a go?

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Author: babyann
Timestamp: Oct 29, 2021 at 9:07 AM
Content:

Rowan said:

Ann, what happened next?? How is Cape town?

[End of quote]

Everything is good for me in Cape Town. Obviously the wider city is still battling with the pandemic, with not enough people getting vaccinated, but otherwise everything is good. For where i am now then read the Epilogue i wrote. That should give a sense of how good my life is now.