Julian - Part 9 free porn video

Being an only child, I never experienced the high and lows that apparently come with having siblings. Fran, who had two older sisters, would often tell me how lucky I'd been to be spared such torments, but I'd never believed her because to me, having brothers or sisters had always felt like something I'd missed out on. "Yeah right," Fran had scoffed once when I'd revealed these thoughts to her, "I hated my sisters growing up. Didn't help that I was the youngest either. They made my life a misery most of the time ." She had many sob stories on this subject, like having to wear her sisters old clothes or how they'd often make her tidy their rooms, and she'd get annoyed at me for laughing at these tales of woe. "You don't understand what it was like," she'd admonish, shaking her head, "being the youngest child is the worst." At the time, sitting at the coffee table with Fran as a married 26 year old man, I never thought for a second that one day I might experience what that was like. The world of childhood, of grubby school rooms and play areas and kids TV shows felt like it was a world away, and a world that would only be revisited when Fran and I had children (something neither of us were particularly keen on). Now though, I had been plunged into it with reckless abandon by a strange woman and her spiteful daughter. Not to mention my own wife, who was also complicit in my fall from adulthood to childhood. A childhood where I'd been sent to my room the day before for being naughty. It was worse than just childhood of course. This was brought home to me as Bethany arrived in at the breakfast table, looking grown up in her Secondary school uniform of black trousers, blue jumper and black pumps with her blonde hair pulled into a business like pony-tail and her fingernails still showing the remnants of the pink nail polish she'd applied over the weekend. We were both going to school, but she was going to a class 5 years my senior! How on earth had such a thing happened? The bratty little blonde girl who I'd looked down on as the silly daughter of my wife's best friend was now, to all intents and purposes, my older sister! It goes without saying that it would have been all the more bearable if I'd been cast into the role of her younger brother. I considered this idea as I picked at the bowl of cornflakes in the purple bowl before me. I would be the messy little brother who played in the mud and left insects in her room to frighten her. Sure I'd still have to go to school, but at least it would be a boys school. But Sara had no interest in turning me into her son. That was why I found myself in the gingham school dress of St. Margaret's Junior School as Bethany joined the table, rather than the grey trousers and blue jumpers of the boys school next door. It was why I was wearing white ankle socks and Mary-Jane shoes (a new addition for the grim Monday morning - Sara had ordered them online) and why my hair had been fashioned into plaits, held in place by a red ribbon. It was why I'd have to suffer another week (at least) sitting in a year 4 girl's classroom, with excitable and loud girls who had, embarrassingly, very quickly accepted me as their equal. "Don't take all day with your breakfast girls," Sara warned as she did her own hair in the hallway, "we're running late already." Some changes in life take place with such slowness as to make them almost imperceptible. This definitely wasn't the case with my relegation to the world of 9 year old girl. In just a few short days Sara had not only changed my physically, brought home to me painfully by my long blonde hair, high pitched voice and humiliating flatness down there, but also immersed me into their environment too. This was something that Bethany was quick to point out when Sara went upstairs. "She's got you just where she wants you," the girl said, with a surprising lack of emotion, "she's turning you into her meek, shy little daughter and you don't have the first idea how to stop it." "What am I supposed to do Bethany....." The girl shook her head, "just listen to yourself. She's even got you whining like a little girl. Are you looking forward to seeing your little friends again today? God, watching you and Maggie together is like looking at two peas in a pod, except she's what, 17 years younger than you? God, how is that even possible?" That cut a little too close to the bone for comfort. I had thought the same thing at lunchtime on Friday when Maggie and I had sat on the field talking - Maggie was a shy girl around adults, but when with me she barely shut up - and it had occurred to me all of a sudden that I had done my GCSEs before the girl was even born! And yet there I was, sitting with her discussing our year 4 schoolwork. Bethany was enjoying my torment now, "you know you're going to be stuck like this for a while, don't you? God, I wouldn't be surprised if she found a way of keeping you at the school next year too. Maybe she'll even find a way of keeping you there for years! Could you imagine that? Little Ellie and Amy going to High School while you still had to go to Junior School? That would be sooo funny!" "How could she keep me there for years," I snapped back, "don't be ridiculous. It's just until the end of term, that's what Sara and Mr. Lindegaard said." "God, listen to you! Mr Lindegaard! He's not even that much older than you!" She spooned the last of her cornflakes down and stood up, "plus, Mum has him wrapped around her little finger. I heard them on the phone last night, it was disgusting." I looked at the girl as she put her dish in the sink. As much as I hated her, I knew she was right. Sara had indeed turned me into her idealised version of a daughter, and I didn't know how to stop it. I had spent the evening before desperately trying to think of escape routes, but nothing obvious sprung to mind. I could hardly present myself to Fran in such a state, and I had absolutely nowhere else to go. This complicity was the reason I found myself clambering into the back of Sara's car as Bethany walked off down the road to catch her bus. It was the reason I found myself shuffling into Miss. Bradley's classroom again, walking in a line of chatty 8 and 9 year old girls and taking my place at the front table with Maggie and Rose. It was the reason I found myself desperately trying to do the Science questions during the first lesson, feeling my face burning with embarrassment as the Maggie and Rose finished well before me. I thought about Sara comments the day before, about how Miss Bradley was worried that I was struggling with the work, and wondered if it really could be true? Was my brain turning to mush under the torrent of childish stimuli? Word on the playground was that Rose was in a mood with me for "blanking" her birthday party. I shrugged this revelation off with a half smirk, not interested in sinking to the level of 9 year old girl arguments. It was bad enough that I had to wear the same clothes and read the same books as they did, without becoming embroiled in spats. I wasn't even tempted when I found out that Rose had been telling everyone how thick I was, and how I was the most babyish 11 year old she had ever met. Unfortunately Amy heard this, and remembering the night when she and Ellie had turned me into their baby (with the spiteful help of Bethany and Louise of course) began to regale the class with the story of how she'd fed me from a bottle and how I'd crawled around the floor. Everybody laughed loudly at this, causing Miss Bradley to yell, "quiet" when she came into the classroom, but the damage was done. For the rest of the class I could hear whispers from the other tables, as the girls giggled at the pathetic "baby" in their midst. They also took to laughing about my gingham dress, with most of the other girls including Amy and Ellie wearing black trousers. I couldn't work out what bothered me more; that a group of 8 and 9 year olds would have the temerity to laugh at me, or that I felt just a little upset that they had. I certainly didn't enjoy the pitying looks from Maggie, who only made the situation worse by grabbing my hand as we walked out to the playground to lunch, causing the other girls to titter at what were now the two social outcasts of the class. "This is ridiculous," I said to myself as Maggie sat next to me on the field, "I shouldn't be involved in nonsense like this." "What are you talking about?" Maggie replied, taking the tinfoil off her sandwiches, "are you annoyed at Rose and Amy?" "I don't care about them," I spat back, a little too quickly. It was sort of true though. My annoyance wasn't with the two silly little girls, but with me for sinking to their level. Maggie looked sadly at me, "well I'm still your friend. I've never liked Amy anyway, she's a bit of a bully." "She isn't bullying me!" Without wanting to put too fine a point on it, I wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere and just die. The feeling wasn't helped by Amy and Ellie (yes Ellie, who had seemed like such a nice little girl) shouting names at me from across the playground, which illicited laughter from their group. I focused my gaze elsewhere, landing on the boys playground which sat on the other side of a chain link fence. I couldn't help but feel envious of their games of football and tag as Maggie rabbited on about how to make bracelets, holding my hand as she used her other to eat her sandwich. I spent most of that evening in my room alone, laying on the peach bedclothes and thinking. Thinking mostly about what Bethany had said that morning, that Sara was in her element and that I faced a long period of girlhood. Was I helping myself by being so complicit though? At first I had decided that going along with it would make Sara take pity on me and let me go, but it was becoming clearer and clearer that such a tactic was only endearing me to her further. I decided what I needed to do. Taking inspiration from cutting up the dress (which had obviously annoyed Sara more than a little bit) I switched off the alarm clock when it chimed the next morning and simply turned over. "What are you doing? Why aren't you up yet?" It had become routine over the last few days for me to sit at the vanity an wait for Sara to arrive in the morning, "I don't need any silly behaviour this morning missy." "I'm not going to that school again," I replied, facing straight ahead at the wall, "I've had enough of it." Sara laughed, "well that's too bad, because you have to go." "Why?" "Because I said so. Now get out of bed and into the bathroom please." I didn't move. If she wanted another daughter to deal with, well now she had one. And not a compliant little mouse either, but one who'd be hard work. Let's see how she liked that! But Sara wasn't going to be flustered that easily. Instead she sat down calmly on the bed and started to rub the quilt cover slowly, "if you don't get out of bed right now, I'll send you to school in your nightie. And don't think I won't do it." I wasn't going to fall for that. There was no way that Sara would spoil her little game by sending me to school in a nightie, as I'd surely be sent straight back home, not to mention how bad it would look on her. The woman sighed loudly, "I didn't think you'd turn into such a child so quickly." Without further word, she yanked me out of bed by the arm and walked me to the bathroom. I fought against every embarrassment as she got me ready, twice spitting out that horrible tonic that made my voice high pitched (until she put her hand over my mouth, leaving me no option) and throwing away the gingham dress when she handed me it to put on. "I'm sick of wearing that, there's no need for it. Loads of the others wear trousers, you're just trying to humiliate me more than necessary." "You're much too pretty to wear horrible trousers," Sara replied softly, not taking the bait, "and you look so nice in the dress. I loved it yesterday when you and Maggie walked out of school together holding hands, both in your school dresses. It was very cute." "She always grabs my hand," I raged, "I couldn't do anything about it. I'm fed up with all this. I think I'm going to tell everybody the truth today, how would you like that?" But Sara had that look in her eyes again, "oh the truth. What truth would that be madam? That you fought with a teenage girl and broke her nose? Or that you've been masquerading as a schoolgirl for a week and a half?" She took the dress and slipped it over me, "if you ask me, you suit this dress just perfectly. It's better than prison scrubs, isn't it?" "You'd go down with me," I spat back, "that's what you seem to forget." "Maybe, but do you really want to find out? Or do you want to sit at the vanity like a good girl and let Mummy do your hair? I've had enough of your nonsense this morning." "This isn't over," I replied calmly, sitting down at the vanity, "you can't keep me like this forever Sara. Even if you are strange enough to try." I continued my newly found rebellious streak by making as little effort as possible in class, forcing Miss Bradley to admonish me for slow progress. I wasn't sure how I felt about this, given that I still liked to remain as anonymous as possible and that I couldn't help but notice how pretty Miss Bradley was looking in her green dress, which floated around her knees and showed just a naughty glimpse of the tops of her breasts. I spent most of Maths class wondering if she had a boyfriend and imagining what she looked like without the dress on. Needless to say, not much Maths was done. "You're going to get into trouble," Maggie whispered to me, noticing my half finished question sheet. The girl was always so nervous, what you might call a goodie two-shoes, which was probably what had endeared me to her. Of course she was going to like the shy, quiet new girl who did her work without fuss. She clearly didn't understand why I was now not trying at all. I was in a foul mood as we headed out to lunch, tired of the whispers about me from the popular table (which Amy had now been promoted to) and of having to keep us the ridiculous charade of girlhood. Maggie looked stunned as I shrugged off her attempt to hold my hand, "why don't you just leave me alone!" I spat, turning away from her and walking over to the field alone. "What have I done??" the girl replied, her voice crackling with emotion. She stood above me as I sat down cross legged on the grass, nervously staring at me, "can I not sit down with you?" "No, go away." She looked sadly at me for a few moments, eyes tearing up very slightly. I felt bad of course, but it was time to stop sinking into their world, "go away I said. I just want to be left alone." Little girls don't take much to take to tears, and Maggie did cry as she walked across the playground, looking back sadly at me a couple of times. I watched as she sat down forlornly at one of the wooden benches that circled that asphalt part of the playground, taking her tinfoil wrapped sandwiches out and eating them slowly, while she stared down at the table. This was why Sara found me walking out of school alone that night, "where's your little friend?" She asked, looking around for Maggie from behind her dark sunglasses. "I don't have a little friend," I replied sourly. Sara looked at me for a moment, "how strange. Well, come on moody, let's get you home." I continued with my new persona throughout the week. I purposely got the first question wrong on the times table quiz (you know the kind, where you have to stand up until you answer incorrectly) and did my very best to ignore Maggie and the other silly girls at all times, sitting alone at break times and not rising to the bait of Amy or Ellie's teasing. At least I felt like I still had some dignity now. All was going so well until Thursday lunchtime. I was sat quietly on the field, reading a book that I'd taken out of the school library that morning about a family who have to move to Mars (they didn't have a great selection), when Hayley and Ruby, the tall loud girls who had come to Ellie's barbeque, appeared above me. "Why are you such a loner?" Hayley spat, her blonde hair blowing in the light wind. Amazingly, it looked like the girl was wearing lip gloss and mascara, and I wondered just why her parents would allow such a thing. "Go away," I replied quietly. "You can make us," Hayley replied, "why are you even in our class? Someone told me that you're really 11, and that you had to join our class because you weren't clever enough for year 6." The girls laughed at this. I turned my attention back to my book, "whatever. Why don't you go back to your little games and leave me alone. I'm not interested in this rubbish." "Oh you're too good to talk to us," Ruby replied, putting on a posh voice, "you didn't even know what 3x4 was earlier! Even my 5 year old sister knows that. Perhaps you should be in year 1 with her. She wears a silly school dress like you as well." "Yeah, why do you wear that?" Hayley asked, "can't you see that everyone else wears trousers? Nobody wears the dress any more. Is it because you're a baby, like Amy has been telling everyone?" I continued to ignore them. I was trying to read but the words weren't going in, in the face of their pathetic taunting. Oh how I wished I was at home, waiting for Fran to get back from work and watching Bargain Hunt. Wearing my jeans and t-shirt and listening to one of my jazz CDs. Ruby leant down and grabbed the book from me, "babies can't read, silly," she laughed, throwing the book to Hayley. "Don't be ridiculous," I said with a sigh, standing up. It was only then that I realised that Hayley was about the same height as I was. I didn't remember her being so tall at the barbecue. Embarrassingly, she was even tall enough to hold the book in the air at such a height that I couldn't reach it. "Just give it back, please. I don't need this." "You'll have to get it back," Ruby taunted, catching the book as Hayley threw it to her. I don't know quite why I reacted in the way I did. What I should have done was to just sit back down and ignore them. What I actually did was to run at Ruby full tilt and lean my shoulder into her, in a way that knocked her clean to the ground. "Hey," she cried out, clearly surprised to find herself on the floor. "I told you to leave me alone," I spat, picking up the book from the ground and wiping a touch of mud from the cover. I felt very happy with myself for a moment (embarrassingly so, on reflection) before I felt a thud from behind that sent my sprawling to the ground. I looked up to find Hayley standing above me, looking surprisingly menacing. "FIGHT!" Someone shouted, causing a large group of girls to surround us with amazing rapidity. Red faced, I tried to get up but Hayley placed a foot squarely on my chest, leaving me immobile. "Get off me," I cried out, which only brought laughter from both girls. "Oh baby can't get up," Hayley said, in a babyish voice. This brought more laughter from the group of girls that had encircled us. I struggled manfully(?) against her foot, but I was also mindful that I was wearing a dress and didn't want to expose myself to everyone. It was the kind of thing I never thought I'd have to worry about. "Girls, what on earth is going on?" The voice was Miss Bradley's, who had made her away across the playground, "Hayley, let her up this instance!" "She pushed Ruby over Miss," Hayley protested. I got to my feet as quickly as possible, feeling incredibly silly. Had I really just found myself in a fight with two 9 year old girls? Had I really been knocked to the ground by a little blonde girl? Why on earth had I reacted at all? Miss Bradley looked very angry, "all three of you come with me right now. We can't have fighting in the playground." Ruby protested this time, "but it wasn't us Miss. She started it." "I don't care who started it young lady. All of you can come with me." I felt about two inches tall as I walked behind the two girls back to the classroom. I spied Maggie looking at me as we did so, standing on her own in the throngs of excited children. For a crazy moment, and I don't know why, she reminded me of Fran. Perhaps it was the look of disappointment in her eyes. Well I got in big trouble for the playground spat. Other girls nearby had collaborated the story that I'd knocked Ruby to the ground first, conveniently leaving out the bit where the pair of them had stolen my book. "You're older than Ruby," Mr Lindegaard had raged in his office, "you can't go around pushing over anyone, but certainly not younger children." I looked down at the carpet, feeling pathetic. Here was a man that was barely older than I was, telling me off like a naughty child. I hated myself. Sara, who had been called in to discuss the situation, looked apoplectic with rage. "We did you a big favour letting you join the class at such a late stage," he continued, shaking his head, "and letting you join the year 4 class where you knew some of the other girls. I'm very disappointed that you've let us down." "I'll make sure she doesn't again," Sara pipped up, "I'm really sorry about this." Mr Lindegaard pushed himself back in the chair, "I'm not sure about this now to be honest. Miss Bradley tells me that you've stopped talking to everyone in the class Julia, Why would you do that?" "Answer Mr Lindegaard, Julia" Sara commanded, voice full of anger. "I don't know," was the best reply I could muster. He wasn't finished with me, "and apparently you made Maggie Benson cry because you didn't want to be her friend any more. That's not behaviour that I'd expect from an 11 year old Julia." What I wanted to do was to tell him to fuck off, but knowing the ramifications of such an act, I simply muttered an apology. On some level I was happy to be making such a fuss, given my new plan to annoy Sara as much as possible, but I was also struggling to stand the sheer humiliation of being chastised like a silly child. In truth, I just wanted to get out of there. "I'm sorry to say this, but I'm not sure that it's a good idea for Julia to stay in the year 4 class." Sara's expression turned even darker, "Julia, go and wait in the hallway please." I didn't need asking twice. I'm not ashamed to tell you that I felt a little bit proud of myself at that moment. My plan was definitely working and now it looked like I was about to be removed from the ghastly school! Not even the sight of Ruby and Hayley looking at me sourly while they sat in the hallway waiting for their turn with Mr. Lindegaard could spoil my mood. "I'm going to get you for this," Ruby whispered, "we're going to make your life hell." I turned to face the girl and almost laughed at the mud stain on her jumper, "I wouldn't worry. Looks like I won't be here too much longer." A few moments later Mr Lindegaard appeared in the doorway and called me back in. He looked slightly paler than he had been a few moments before. "You can go back to class now Julia. But I'm going to be paying close attention to your behaviour over the next few weeks, understood?" "But I thought you were going to chuck me out," I said, not able to contain my disappointment. Now it was Mr Lindegaard's turn to look angry, "I'd suggest you head back to class very quickly young lady and buck your ideas up a little. Understand?" I looked over at Sara who, no doubt pleased with her cunning, could barely contain a grin," yes sir," I replied quietly. I passed Hayley and Ruby in the hallway again on my way out, and they muttered something inaudible as I passed. Suddenly, I felt very small again. Not only was I going back to class, I now had two enemies to deal with. "I know what you're doing," Sara said to me as we drove home that night, "you think that being naughty is going to make me let you go, don't you? Well, think again little miss. If anything I think it's quite cute. Fighting and arguing with the other girls in your class! Who would have thought it?" I stared glumly out of the window, ashamed of myself. As the day had progressed, I'd grown more and more annoyed that I'd been dragged down to the level of responding to their infantile playground taunting. It was the kind of thing that made me think that Sara was right after all; that I did belong with those silly girls. "And I'm pleased to see that you made up with Maggie," Sara had seen the pair of us walk out of school together, "it's good to have a best friend. Did she give you that bracelet?" I looked down at the pink fabric bracelet on my left arm and nodded slowly. In the midst of feeling sorry for myself, I'd totally forgotten to take it off after afternoon break, when Maggie, excited at our reconciliation, had produced it for me. Again, I wasn't sure quite why I'd sought her out at playtime to apologise, other than I felt bad seeing her sitting by herself. Looking down at the bracelet now, it seemed appropriate to leave it on. Sara told me that she needed a few things from the supermarket, and ignoring my feeble pleas about not wanting to be seen in the school dress, we drove there wordlessly. Upon arrival Sara, never wanting to miss a chance to put me in my place, made a big fuss about finding a parent and child space and eventually pulled into a spot right near the entrance door. In the car to our right, a harried looking Mother was trying to get her two young children to put their seatbelts on. With a painful wince, I noted that her daughter, no more than 5 or 6, was wearing the same St Margaret's gingham dress as I was. I was starting to feel more comfortable outside now, in as much as it seemed unlikely that anyone would ever recognise me as a man. Still, there was always an uneasy feeling that we might run into someone who knew me well, like a neighbour or an old school friend, and I worried that I was probably still recognisable if they looked hard enough. "Why would they?" Was Sara's response to my concerns as we entered the supermarket, "people don't pay that much attention. They'll just see a girl and her Mum." To reinforce my station, Sara had me hold onto the side of the trolley as we walked up and down the food aisle, the woman tossing various items into the cart with the abandon of someone for whom money isn't an object. Every now and again she'd ask my opinion, "can you remember if your sister likes these?', or "what do you want in your lunch tomorrow?', which only served to further remind me of my new position. Of course, no trip to the supermarket could be complete for Sara without a trip to the clothing section. I knew it was coming, as soon as I'd seen the sign for "Girls Clothing" I knew that we'd be making a visit, but I was mortified when Sara, in the middle of the bread aisle, said loudly, "oh, don't let me forget that you need some new knickers for school. I think the ones I bought you are a bit too big." "For crying out loud! Can't you keep your voice down!" I whispered violently, trying to ignore the little grin on the face of a middle age woman who was standing next to us, who probably thought the little girl getting embarrassed by her Mum was very cute, "and what do you mean too big? I looked on the label and they're for 11-12s. How can they be too big?" "I think you've lost a bit of weight, that's all," Sara replied nonchalantly, "must be all that running around the playground." The woman was clearly loving my deep embarrassment as we headed to the clothing section. To make matters much worse, the girl's underwear was placed on one of the outer aisles, right opposite the checkouts. "Any preference?" Sara asked, matter of factly. "Hardly," I replied with gritted teeth, "let's just hurry up." I turned around to see a teenage checkout girl looking at us as she twiddled her blonde hair with her thumb. "Fine then," Sara placed three packs into the trolley. I didn't want to look at them too much, but a brief glance revealed yellow and pink pastel coloured monstrosities that we clearly younger in style than the ones I was wearing now. A label proclaimed them as for 9-10 year olds. "They won't fit me! Put them back!" "No, they'll be fine." "Sara!" The woman sighed, "look, it's not my fault that you've lost weight. I think you've gone down to a 24 inch waist, so these will fit you better. If you keep complaining I'll go back and get the 7-8 year old ones, they'll probably fit you too." I couldn't believe such a thing was possible, but that night I'd weighed myself on the bathroom scales and recoiled in horror as the needle settled at just under 6 stone. As an adult, I weighed about 8 and a half stone, which was puny itself, but 6 stone! That was ridiculous! While it was understandable that my appetite would have dwindled in the face of the humiliations (and it humiliating enough having child sized portions dished out or having to eat a packed lunch from a purple lunchbox) I resolved to make sure I started to eat more. For one thing, I didn't want the ignominy of wearing 7-8 year old underwear. As I trudged down the hallway back to my room, a call came from Bethany, "oh Julia, I need you for a minute." I pushed the girl's door open to find her sitting cross legged on her bed, wearing black leggings and a plain sweatshirt, with her hair tied up by a purple hair-band. She looked different, and it took me a moment to realise it was because she was wearing make-up. "Sit down on the floor in front of me," she said, rummaging through her bag, "I want to see how this nail polish looks." "No way." I turned to leave. I'd had a bad enough day without Bethany being involved, I didn't need her to make it worse. "Ah no, you will help. Just remember that I've still got those pictures of you in your lovely swimming costume. Shall we send them to Fran?" She asked, holding her phone in the air as a further warning. Hating my life, I kneeled down in front of her, thoroughly embarrassed by the denim dungarees and white tights that Sara had dressed me in, that must have looked so infantile compared to Bethany's outfit. That was before taking into account the 9-10 year old underwear, that Sara had made such a big fuss of having me put on when we got home. The blasted woman was right too, they did fit better. Bethany unscrewed a bottle of yellow nail polish and began applying it with great care, "I want to see how this looks. I've got a yellow dress that I'm thinking of wearing to prom, but I don't know if this colour is a bit much." She got me to blow on my right hand when it was finished, "this is nice. You know, it might not be too bad having a little sister around, even if it is a weird one like you. So I hear you had a fight in school today?" "Who told you that?" Could nothing be kept secret in this house! "Mum of course," the girl replied, taking a file from her bag to even up one of my nails, "don't feel too bad about it. Girls can be so bitchy and nasty sometimes. Like there's this one girl in my year, Rebecca, who thinks she's such a supermodel, but she's actually pretty ugly. She goes round laughing at peoples hair and clothes, but I know she lives in Ladybank, so she can shut up." Ladybank was the council estate on the other side of town. I'd spent a couple of years there as a kid before we'd managed to get a house in a slightly better area. Maggie also lived there, and it had made me feel quite nostalgic to visit her house. "I know about Hayley and Ruby," Bethany continued, "Louise has told me about them. Apparently Ellie is always coming home in tears because they make fun of her. I've heard that Ruby's Dad is in prison for robbery or something. I bet they live in Ladybank too. There, finished," she stroked the last of the yellow polish onto my little finger with a deftness that made me wonder why Sara thought her daughter was a tomboy. "You know, yellow suits you. It doesn't normally work with really blonde hair, but it looks cute on you." "Great," I whispered. Knowing that yellow nail polish suited me was something I'd always wanted to hear. "Oh, can we see how it looks with a yellow dress? I know just the thing." The girl leapt off her bed and into her wardrobe, "my prom dress will be a bit big on you, but I've got a dress that Mum bought me for a wedding or something a couple of years ago." She emerged holding a fairly plain yellow dress, "actually, this wasn't so bad. I remember liking the little pleats in the skirt. Well, put it on." "Do I really have to? I'm really tired." But the girl wasn't taking no for an answer. What amazed me though, is that she expected me to change in her room, with her in it! "Oh don't be so shy," she smirked, beginning to unbutton my dungarees in a very matter of fact way, "just hurry up and put the dress on. I really want to see how it looks." I took the offending item from her, shaking my head, "I'll put it on, but you have to turn around." "OK, fine," she groaned, "just be quick. Take off those tights too, they won't go with the dress at all." The girl was very happy when she turned round a few moments later, "that dress looks really pretty on you," she enthused, fussing with the neckline, "it amazes me how much you look like a girl now. I wonder if you have your own end of year dance? I can't remember if you do in year 4 or not," she made me stand in front of her while she studied her handiwork, "yeah, I think the nail polish works. If you do have a dance you should totally wear this outfit. You'd be like a little version of me. Now sit down again so I can do your make-up." "Oh no Bethany, come on." "Stop your whining," the girl replied, motioning me to retake my position kneeling in front of her, "you know, most little sisters would love their make up done. I bet Ellie pesters Louise all the time." "Well I'm hardly Ellie, am I?" I said grumpily, as Bethany starting brushing something over my face. "Oh, I don't know. Mum tells me that she had to buy you 9-10 size underwear today. That's probably the same as Ellie." God, the girl was probably right! Had I become so weedy and pathetic that I bought the same size clothes as Ellie, or even Maggie? I was certainly taller than them, but maybe I wasn't much bigger any more. I wondered if they even weighed much less than my newly pathetic six stone. Mercifully, Bethany decided to change the subject, "where is Mum going tomorrow night?" I snapped out of my fog of self pity, "what? How should I know." "It's weird, I heard her talking on the phone about someone called Ian, but I have no idea who that is." My stomach lurched as I thought about the creepy policeman, who Sara had agreed to go on a date with. In the midst of my constant humiliations, I'd forgotten all about him and his silly little goatee beard and beady eyes. Should I tell Bethany or not? It didn't seem my place to tell her that her Mum was going on a date. However, it seemed that the girl had figured out pretty soundly on her own. "She's such a player," she said, shaking her head slowly as she unscrewed a mascara wand,'you know, you would have thought that Mr Lindegaard would be enough for her, but clearly not. And I don't even want to know about her and Fran." "What do you mean? You don't honestly think those two are an item do you? I thought you just said that to wind me up." "Well I did a bit," the girl replied, "although I didn't think you'd punch me," she lowered her voice, "but I've heard that Fran has left your house an moved in with someone else. Apparently Mum doesn't even know where she is." All I could do was to stare at Bethany as my blood ran cold and my stomach twisted angrily. Fran had moved out? Where? And with who? Why on earth hadn't I been told about it? I wanted to ask all these questions, but had been rendered immobile by the news. "Are you OK?" Bethany asked, "you don't look very well." "Bethany, you just told me that my wife has left our house, of course I'm not OK." It was clear that the girl didn't really understand the significance of her comments. I suddenly felt very light headed as it started to make sense. That was why Sara had driven to my house and just sat outside. She was looking for Fran. Bethany narrowed her eyes, "tell you something else, my Dad was asking tonnes of questions about all the money that Mum is spending at the moment. He can't work out what the hell is happening." I didn't care about that, "Bethany, are you sure that Fran has moved out? Where did you hear it?" "Oh she's gone," Bethany replied, expression unchanged as she pulled out a lip gloss in a frosty pink container, "I heard........" "What are you girls gossiping about?" We both turned to see Sara standing in the doorway, arms folded across her chest and smiling broadly, "Bethany, I'm not sure I like you putting that make-up on your sister." "I'm only trying to see how it looks," she groaned, "God, do you want me to look good for the prom or not?" "Well, it's nearly Julia's bedtime so come and help me wash that off her. I came up to see if you wanted to rent a film to watch?" I knew that invitation wasn't extended to me but I didn't care. My head was still swimming from the news, so much so that I hardly noticed Sara and her daughter lead me into the bathroom, where they began removing the make-up that Bethany had liberally applied. Perhaps sensing my want to find out more information, Bethany came up with an idea, "I don't mind getting Julia ready for bed Mum, if you want to go back downstairs and have a rest." Sara looked dubiously at her daughter for a moment but then shrugged, "well, that would be nice, actually. I can go and get us some snacks ready while you do. Make sure she cleans her teeth and puts her hair up neatly, I don't want to spend ages untangling it in the morning." I waited whole seconds after Sara had left, "we were talking about Fran. Do you know who she's moved in with? Is it her friend from work? I called home a couple of weeks back and a man answered...." "Sssh for a second," the girl replied, dutifully squeezing Strawberry flavoured toothpaste onto my purple toothbrush, "here, brush your teeth." "But Bethany, you need to tell me....." "Brush your teeth!" She repeated, "or I'll call Mum." I took the toothbrush from her angrily. After that was done, we walked back to my room to find that Sara had already laid out a nightie on the bed. "Bethany, why won't you tell me what you know? This is torture." "Fine. All I know is that no-one has been able to contact her since that night she saw you dressed up. Mum's had a couple of texts but that's it. Then I hear......" As if on cue, Sara burst in the door, "I almost forgot. Can you make sure your sister wears these please," she handed Bethany a unopened packet, "oh, and do you want popcorn?" "So what are these?" Bethany mused, opening the packet after Sara had left, "oh, night time pants," the girl threw her hand over her mouth to stifle laughter, "have you been having little accidents?" "No!" That wasn't quite true. I'd had another wet dream a couple of nights back, and Sara had been livid about having to wash the sheets again. But what did they expect, given the enforced chastity that I had to endure? "Oh this is too funny," Bethany laughed, sitting down on the bed, "look, you can buy boys or girls versions. Apparently the boys version has a little fold in the front that opens so they can stand up to pee, how cute" she showed me the diagram on the packet, "you've got the girls ones though, that just go all the way round. " She handed me a pair. The fleecy texture felt so ridiculous in my hands and to make matters worse, the outer packaging featured a picture of a girl no more than toddler age. "I won't wear these," I stormed, "she is just trying to humiliate me in front of you. For crying out loud, these are for infants!" "No, they're for children up to 9, look at the label," Bethany held it in front of me, "they're like one size fits all things." "I don't care. There is no way I'll put those on." "Oh come on, I won't tell anyone. I think it's cute anyway. I bet it's quite stressful having to go back to school and that. It's no surprise that you might have little accidents at night." She sat next to me on the bed, suddenly looking so big in her leggings and sweatshirt, "tell you what. If you let me get you ready for bed in your nightie and pants, I'll tell you what I know about Fran, deal?" I groaned inwardly at the idea. What had it come to that I had to be dressed for bed by a 13 year old girl before I could find out what my wife was up to? "Fine," I said quietly, "but you better." Bethany just loved the next few minutes. She left me alone to change into the pants, which I did as quickly as possible without thinking too much about what I was doing. They immediately felt very strange against the skin, and made a faint, but hugely embarrassing rustling noise when I walked. I'd hoped to have pulled on the nightie before Bethany came back in, but she was too quick. "See, they're not too bad," she said, but she was grinning slightly. I did all I could in the next few minutes to withstand the sheer humiliation of having a teenager lift a nightie over my head and then stand behind me and watch as I brushed my hair into a "night time" ponytail, held in place by a white and pink spotted scrunchy hair-band. "You're getting very good at doing your hair," the girl commented, as I took the not unwelcome step of climbing into bed, Bethany making sure that the covers were pulled tightly up to my shoulders and that my teddy bear rested to my right. "Now, tell me what you know." The girl laughed, "about what?" "You know about what! About Fran moving out." "I don't see what that's any of your business," she said, looking at me darkly, "why on earth would a little girl in night time panties need to know what big old Fran was up to?" "Bethany, you promised!" "Oh just listen to yourself! I was going to tell you but I've changed my mind, OK? Perhaps it was when I saw my screwed up nose in your vanity mirror that did it." She walked over and pulled my curtains shut, blocking out the last of the fading evening, "you know, don't think I've forgotten about that. Now, off you go to sleep Julia, while Mum and me watch our film. Oh, and try not to wet your panties again, good girl." The teenager even had the audacity to pat me on the head as she left, ignoring my remonstrations with a sly grin and a victorious look in her spiteful eyes. Needless to say, my head was in a fog the next morning, a mixture of a night of interrupted sleep and concern about the unknown. I had laid awake for many hours, thinking through every possible scenario and fretting over the possibility that it could be true. I'd always had suspicions about one of the guys that Fran worked with, he was always very familiar with her at Christmas parties for one, and I wondered if it was him that she'd run off with. His name was Gregory, and he always pronounced it with an emphasis on the final syllable, like he was some kind of Lothario. Was it Gregory that she'd shacked up with? Perhaps they were sitting in his flat, laughing about her pathetic ex-husband as they sipped Pinot and slid their hands over each other's bodies while I lay in a child's bedroom, feeling every inch the pathetic little girl that I'd somehow become. The sheer idea of it made my head spin. It had been bad enough when I'd suspected something was going on between her and Sara, but somewhere at the back of my mind I'd always had an inkling that that was unlikely. But Gregory? Or some beefcake instructor from the gym? That seemed eminently possible. Sara became frustrated with my mental absence as she readied me for school, "are you just going to stand there like a plank of wood?" She complained, lifting my arms in the air while she washed me with a wet flannel. I didn't want to ask her about Fran. In the cold light of the morning I was too afraid of the answer. But it was all I thought about as she dressed me once again in the gingham school dress, complete now with the humiliation of 9-10 year old size underwear. The idea that I was being treated like an 11 year old in any way felt even more distant when she had me sit at the vanity while she put my hair into two neat plaits, each one secured with a red bow at the end. Then she spent an age on my fringe, until it perched perfectly above my eyebrows, bouncing slightly against my forehead in a desperately girlie fashion. "It's funny," Sara mused as she applied the finishing touches, "I was thinking while I ironed your summer dress this morning how I never thought I'd have to do all this again. You know, have a little one to look after." "Little one!" I complained, aghast at such a description. "Well, yes. To all intents and purposes. I mean, this morning has been like having Bethany back as a five year old really. Having to wash and dress you and putting your hair into pretty little plaits. Not that I'm complaining, it's lovely to have a little girl in the house again." Then the woman had the temerity to kiss me on the cheek. "Do you have to put my hair like this," I groaned, aghast at the delicate creature in the reflection of the vanity mirror, "hardly any of the girls have their hair in plaits." I thought of Ruby and Hayley and how they'd be sure to laugh at my infantile look. Hell, even Maggie had her hair straight most days. But Sara didn't care, and waved away my remonstrations while a grin. It was the same grin that was apparent when she informed me that I'd be going to Maggie's after school, to "play', as she put it. "I'll pick you up on my way home," she said, fussing with her own hair in the rear view mirror as we pulled into the school car park, "I'm meeting Ian at 7, so it won't be too late." "Please don't make me go round there," I protested, glumly staring at the groups of girls heading into the school and realising that I was about to amongst their number yet again. I really couldn't stand the idea of another night at Maggie's house, playing girlie games and having to listen to her giggle about boy bands and other such pathetic nonsense, "why can't me and Bethany just stay at home? Bethany is 13, I think that's too young to stay at home alone." "Bethany is staying at home," Sara replied, handing me my purple rucksack, "but you can't stay in the house without an adult, little miss" she wore that sly grin again, "I'll pick you up at about half nine probably. Be a good girl for Maggie's Mum now." That was how far I had sunk, to the point where Bethany could be allowed to stay home alone, but not me. Other things were really starting to worry me too. Like how I was starting to learn how to change for P.E in the same way as the other girls, by putting on my gym skirt underneath my school dress first, so that nobody saw your underwear. Or how I found myself using some of their slang words when talking to Maggie, words I would never had even known only a few weeks before. The day dragged terribly. I found myself staring at a maths quiz in the afternoon, listening to the non-stop ticking of the clock and wishing I was just about anywhere else. The P.E lesson had left me tired, and my right leg in particular felt sore against my cold plastic chair. I jumped when Miss Bradley, who had stealthily made her way to behind my desk, placed her hand on my shoulder. "Is that all you've managed Julia?" She said softly, kneeling down beside me in the small gap that Maggie left between our seats, "do you need any help?" God she was pretty. Her soft blonde hair sparkled in the afternoon sun, and I had to do all I could not to stare at her bright blue eyes. Friday was clearly a casual day for the teachers, and she was wearing blue jeans and a button up white blouse, under which I could see a peak of her bra strap. "Cat got your tongue?" She continued, staring at me with more attention than I felt comfortable with. I knew my face was burning red, because it suddenly felt much hotter. "C'mon Julia, you know these. If 5x7 is 35, then what is 5x8?" But my mind had gone blank. Actually, that's not true. It was filled with thoughts of Miss Bradley doing unspeakable things to me. I imagined her stripping off slowly, teasing me with that bra strap as she unbuttoned her blouse..... "I know Miss, it's 40," Maggie jumped in, no longer able to resist the chance to prove how clever she was. "Well that's good Maggie, but I wanted Julia to and the teacher moved even closer to me, "so what about 5x9 then Julia. If 5x7 is 35 and 5x8 is 40, what is 5x9? Can you remember the easy way I showed you to do the 5 times table?" It was torture. Her sweet little voice only aroused my further. It wasn't fair that she saw me as another little girl to teach, when I was so much more. My mind was scrambled, "I'm sorry, I just don't remember," was all I could manage. She explained it again, but by this point it didn't matter. She could have been talking in Swahili for all that it mattered to me, given that I wasn't taking in a word she said. Perhaps it was tiredness for my fitful night's sleep, or perhaps it was my hormones raging against the chastity I had to endure, but it was simply as though my brain had gone into meltdown. All I could do was to nod along to her voice, hoping she'd go away soon. "I can't believe you forgot your five times tables," Maggie said, as we walked out of school that evening. She was holding my hand tightly of course, but I couldn't be bothered to pull it away, "anyway, are you excited about coming to my house again?" Maggie's Mum met us at the gates and led us to her battered old Vauxhall Corsa. She was a pleasant woman, much like an older version of Maggie in fact. She was in her mid to late thirties, or so it looked, but she looked older dressed in a pair of shapeless black leggings and a flowery cardigan, with her auburn hair swept into a low maintenance pony tail. She was quiet, which was blessed relief compared to the constant chatter in my left ear from Maggie, but it occurred to me that she was only quiet because she didn't have anything to say to the little girls in the back of the car. Maggie and I had to sit in the back of the car because we had to pick up her brother, Harry, from the boy's school next door. It was so embarrassing to see all the throngs of boys in their royal blue jumpers as we drove down the driveway to the car park. They didn't have to worry about how to put on their gym skirts or sit for twenty minutes while their Mum put their hair into fussy plaits. Plus they could stand up to pee, an activity that I missed very much when I'd have to wait for a free cubicle in the girl's toilets. Maggie always wanted to come to the bathroom with me, so I always had to find a way of sneaking there without her noticing. If Maggie was shy amongst strangers, her brother was the polar opposite. He was older than Maggie by a year, and had a shock of ginger hair that marked him out from some distance as he walked to the car, "do you have to drive down to the car park," he grumbled, "I can walk to the gates myself you know." He carried a football under his arm, and I had to stifle a laugh at the mud stains on his trousers, "why is Maggie's friend coming round again? Why wasn't I allowed a friend round?" He looked at me with the indifference of a boy looking at a silly, icky, girl. "You had Charlie round last week," his Mum groaned, sounding tired. "Well they better put that music on quietly tonight," he moaned, "last time I couldn't hear the Football because they were listening to One Direction so loudly." "You like them really," Maggie replied, "I bet you listen to them all the time." He screwed up his face, "yeah right, they're for pathetic little loser girls like you." "No they're not!" Maggie cried out. Harry was right of course. After two hours of listening to them on my last visit to Maggie's, I had wanted to pull my ears off. I dreaded the thought of another evening enduring their sugary lyrics and hearing Maggie talk about who she liked best. Harry grinned, "I don't care anyway, as long as I don't have to listen to it. Hey, look out!" He motioned to throw the football at Maggie and then me, causing us both to flinch, "ha ha, why are you afraid of a football? It won't hurt you." "That's enough Harry," his Mum said, sounding tired, "leave the girls alone now." My evening at Maggie's was as bad as I feared. We spent the first hour sitting cross legged in her room while Maggie showed me her endless drawings and talked excitedly about a range of topics from why Louis was her favourite One Directioner, to how she wanted her hair for her birthday party in a month's time, "Mum told me I could wear make-up as well," she said, happily, "you'll be coming, won't you?" "Undoubtedly," I sighed. I liked Maggie though. She didn't have the nasty streak that some of the other girls had, and she could be sweetly na?ve and nervous, like when it became clear that she wanted us to play with her dolls, but was afraid that I would think it baby-ish. "I don't play with them often," she said, producing a large box from under her bed, "I mostly use them for hair styles now." That was how we ended up spending another hour laying on her fluffy purple carpet, as she explained the system of families that she had set up for her dolls, and where they all lived. "Are you girls OK?" Maggie's Mum asked, walking in as the girl tipped the last of her dolls onto the floor, "make sure you pick them all up Maggie. I don't want to have to clean your room up again." "I will," she replied. "I love you hair Julia," the woman continued, "it's very pretty." "Thank you," I squeaked, feeling ever so foolish with the Barbie doll in hand that Maggie had thrust upon me. "I think it would be a good idea for you girls to take your school uniforms off if you're going to be laying around on the carpet." The woman walked across the bedroom, stepping over us as she did so on the way to Maggie's wardrobe. She pulled out a pair of pink shorts and white t-shirt and passed them to her daughter. "But what about Julia?" Maggie asked, "she didn't bring anything to wear." "I'm sure we can find something in here for her," her Mum replied, "although she is a bit taller than you." "I'm OK anyway," I replied, desperate not to wear Maggie's clothes. The shame of such a thing made my head spin. "Don't be silly, what would your Mum say if I sent you back with a dirty school dress." I thought of Harry and his muddy trousers, and how it was OK for a boy to have messy clothes. "This will be fine." Maggie's Mum handed me a plain purple dress, "it was a bit too big for you Maggie, wasn't it?" I took the dress from her, wanting to cry. Even worse, the woman stood and waited for me to hand her my school dress so she could put it in the wash. I felt a rush of panic as I wondered if any trace of malehood would be apparent as I swapped dresses as quickly as I could, but nothing was said. It wasn't beyond my notice that I was now wearing a dress while Maggie wore shorts. Not that anyone else, least of all Maggie or her Mum, cared. It was a plain dress, but with a frill on the hem of the skirt that Maggie's Mum said looked very cute on me. "It won't be long before you girls have to start wearing a bra," she said, taking our school uniforms under her arm, and Maggie looked very pleased at the idea. "Some of the girls already do," the girl chimed in, "I heard Hayley talking about it." It made me think about Miss Bradley and her bra strap again, causing a tiny stir of arousal while I had to quickly stymie. It also made me think how strange it is that children are so desperate to grow up quickly, and yet when we become adults we all try our best not to get older. Maggie's Mum patted us both on the head on her way out, "dinner in half an hour girls, is that OK? I'm just waiting for your Dad to get home from work." "Do you want to listen to my One Direction album?" Maggie asked, pulling the well used CD down from its shelf, "do you remember the dance routine from last time?" "Do we have to dance?" I sighed, "why don't we watch something on TV instead?" "No we should practice our dance routine," Maggie insisted, taking charge of the situation in a way she would never do at school. It was confidence derived from being on her own patch and, shamefully, from being with someone just as shy and meek as her. She put the disc into the little purple CD player that sat by her bed. The music was awful. It made me think about the silly boy bands that all the girls listened to when I was at school, bands that boys wouldn't listen to in a million years. But to Maggie, they were the greatest thing since sliced bread, and she breathlessly explained what dance we should do to each song. I followed along, trying not to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. It was beyond humiliating, and the worst thing was that I wasn't quite sure why I was doing it. I could have simply told her no, but I hadn't. It felt like I was completely losing the ability to think or stand up for myself. A bit like not remembering my 5 times table, was I also forgetting how to be a man? "What is this rubbish?" We both turned, red cheeked from the exertion of dancing along to some poppy number, to find Harry standing in the doorway. He wore an incredulous look, clearly bemused by the at the sight of the silly girls dancing to the rubbish music. His school uniform had been replaced by a pair of blue tracksuit bottoms and a polo shirt, and he had a packet of crisps in hand, "you two look really silly." "Just leave us alone," Maggie panted, still slightly out of breath, "you're not allowed in my room." "I am allowed in your room," he replied importantly, "I'm older than you, so I can do what I want." "That's not the rule! I'm getting Mum." The little girl headed to the door, "Mum!" She cried, "tell Harry to leave us alone!" Harry sat down on his sister's bed, laughing. "Maybe I want to eat my crisps in your room. As if either of you can stop me." This made me look down at myself, and the ridiculous purple dress of Maggie's that I found myself wearing. The boy was probably right. I wouldn't have been surprised, in my enfeebled state, if he was stronger than me now. But he wouldn't fight a girl, anyway. "This isn't fair," Maggie raged, "I never bother you and your friends. Me and Julia want to practice our dance routines, and you're in the way." "What's going on in here?" Maggie's Mum appeared in the doorway, with a pair of oven gloves in her hands, "can't you lot even behave for an hour while I get the dinner ready?" "It's not us," Maggie complained, "Harry won't leave us alone." The woman's eyes narrowed on her son, "well perhaps Harry wants to join in your dance routines girls." "No way," the boy cried, "as if I'd want to play with them." "Well why are you in here then? Shall we get you a nice dress to wear so you can play with the girls?" Harry shot up off the bed, "don't be stupid. I was only messing around." "Well then I suggest you leave them alone," Maggie's Mum continued, "you can come downstairs and help me set the table." Harry didn't need telling twice, and flew out of the room like a rocket. I sat down in the space vacated on Maggie's bed, head spinning slightly. If I'd needed confirmation of just how weak and pathetic I was, it had been shown in full glory by Maggie's 10 year old brother. He had been aghast at the idea of joining in our games, or being treated in any way like a girl. What on earth was I doing? Maggie's Mum wasn't finished, "oh Julia, your Mum just called. She isn't going to be able to pick you up tonight, so I said you could stay over." "Really Mum! That's great!" Maggie started leaping up and down, "we can have a sleepover. Can we have popcorn?" "I suppose so sweetie." "Oh, and can we borrow your make-up?" "No Maggie, don't be silly." I slumped against her headboard, steeling myself for a long evening of dancing and God knows what else. "Why didn't you pick me up last night?" I asked Sara, as we drove home the next day. I was annoyed at her, annoyed at how nonchalant she had been when she came to pick me up, finally, at 4pm. Annoyed at how she'd come in for a cup of tea, leaving me with Maggie for yet another hour while she and Maggie's Mum sat at the coffee table, nattering. Annoyed at she'd commented on the green cotton shorts that I was wearing, another item produced from Maggie's wardrobe for me to endure. "I ended up having a couple of drinks," she replied. "And what took you so long today?" "Well I called this morning but you were out. That was nice of Maggie's Mum to take you swimming, wasn't it?" Nice! It had been humiliating beyond belief. As if borrowing one of Maggie's costumes wasn't bad enough, I'd then had to worry the whole time about any trace of maleness showing as we changed in the women's locker rooms. Worse still, I'd had to admit that I didn't even know how to swim, which landed me in the beginners pool with a group of babies and infants, each being looked after by a doting parent. I didn't tell Sara any of this. I didn't want to give her pleasure of knowing. I also didn't tell her how we'd gone for ice cream afterwards or how Maggie and I had played in the playground with a bunch of other children, which left me sweating in the midday sun, trying to keep up with their boundless energy, frightened as I was that anyone would realise I wasn't actually a child. But all that was nothing compared to the ultimate humiliation that I had endured, the one that left me staring out of the window now, wondering just what I was becoming. Wondering what the hell had happened to me. A grown man, with a wife, who seemed to be regressing in every way into a little girl. It had been Maggie's Mum's fault. She had loaded us up with juice all night, and I hadn't really noticed. It was no excuse of course, but I still felt a little angry with her. But perhaps it wasn't just that that caused me to wet the bed. Perhaps my mind was rebelling. Perhaps it couldn't stand the sheer enormity of my problems any longer, and was falling apart. Maggie's Mum hadn't quite known what to say. The funny thing was, I had dreamed it was happening as it happened. I had been desperate to go the toilet, but every time I had tried the doorknob it had been locked. In the dream, Bethany had been standing behind me laughing. I had cried out to her to unlock the door for me, but she'd only laughed harder, telling me that it I should use the night time pants that I was wearing. It was like an explosion, and I'd known straight away that it wasn't a dream any more. But by the time I'd realised it was too late, and I was sodden. So was the sleeping bag that Maggie's Mum had given me, a little purple sleeping bag that Maggie had used when they'd gone camping last year, and so was the floor underneath. I couldn't believe it. I had looked over at the clock. It was just after 6am. I had no idea what to do. I could hear Maggie's Mum moving around downstairs, so eventually I realised that I'd just have to go and tell her. After her initial surprise, she was very nice about it, but that almost made it worse. She told me not to worry, and that she'd clean it up. She took me into her room, thankfully Maggie's Dad had gone to work, where she brought me in a pair of Maggie's knickers and another one of her nighties to change into. But the shame was too much to bear. "It happens to Maggie sometimes," she said, as if to comfort me, taking the nightie and knickers that I had been wearing and putting them in a black bag, "I don't want you to feel bad about it at all. We won't even have to tell any one else, OK?" I'd nodded slowly. I would know though, and that was all that mattered. I had started to cry, ever so softly as not to wake Maggie or her brother up, and the woman had cuddled me until I stopped. I hardly even knew why I was crying any more. It had all left me without any fight. I had looked at the other children in the play ar