A Puericil Journey

A Puericil Journey 1

[12,724 words]

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This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and sexual activity of preteen and young teen children for the purpose of punishment. None of the behaviors in this story should be attempted in real life, as that would be harmful and/or illegal. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now.

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A Puericil Journey

Part One

Owen’s Journal

My name is Owen Hicks. I am thirteen and live with my Mum and my kid sister Amy. She is 11. This is my first journal entry. I've been asked to keep a journal now that I am taking Puericil, to help note any changes or feelings or whatever. I have no idea if anyone is going to read it, or if it's private, I can't remember what the doctor said. I hope it's private. Although if no one is going to read it, it seems a bit pointless if you ask me.

Anyway, all this is because Mum took me to the doctors the other day. I wasn't ill, although I was feeling bad I guess. In case you're wondering where Dad is, he left us 18 months ago. I don't really even see him much now. On my birthday he showed up to give me a present, and then left again within an hour. I didn't really care as I'm still pretty mad at him.

After Dad left (the first time, I mean), Mum was pretty upset, and Amy was only 9 I think back then, so I knew I had to step up and be more grown up to help Mum out. And I think I did a pretty good job of it too. For instance, I managed to fix a leaking tap after watching a YouTube video. Mum was very pleased with that, but to be honest, I felt like she didn't always seem to appreciate my efforts, and she still nagged me often about boring kids stuff. Sometimes it hurt my feelings, like when I wanted to show her that I’d managed to put the back gate back on it’s hinges (it had been hanging off for months) but she obviously couldn’t have cared less and started asking me if I had any homework to do.

I did start getting into a bit of trouble at school after a while as well. I've never been a straight 'A' kind of student, I'm not a teacher's pet or a 'try hard' either. But I work hard and I'd never been in trouble before. Over the last year though, I started getting detentions for forgetting to do my homework. I even got into a couple of fights, though they weren't really my fault. You can't just do nothing if kids start picking on you, can you?

I know Mum blames all this on me staying up late on my PlayStation. That's probably a bit true. I did fall asleep in class once. But since I was busy trying to help around the house, I didn't get much chance to relax until late. Then before you know it its 1.30 am.

Well, the last time I got detention, I got solitary all week (that’s when you have to work in a little room instead of class) and they called Mum in. Again, actually, it was the second time. I thought she would go ballistic, but she didn't seem as angry as I expected. Although she did drop things like "disappointed" and "embarrassed" on me. When she said she was worried about the changes in me and wanted me to come to talk to the family doctor with her (normally the last thing I'd want is to go there) it felt like a bit of a "get out" at the time. I could play up being depressed or something and not be in so much trouble, or get grounded. And it wasn't even a complete lie. When I stopped to think about it, I realised that I'm not real happy, most of the time.

So I agreed to go. Mum explained why we were there and talked about “my problems” like I wasn’t there for a while. And then I got to talk to Dr Lewis for a while on our own, and I tried to explain from my point of view!

I was expecting to get told off for fighting, or forgetting my homework, but Dr Lewis just seemed interested in why it was happening. She didn’t say much at first, just nodded and asked me things like “how did that make you feel?” or “what were you thinking when that happened?” It was weird. I’m not used to adults actually listening. Mostly they just tell you what you did wrong and that’s that. But she kept asking until I ran out of words, and then she’d wait, like there might be more. And sometimes there were.

I told her about how everything just felt harder now. Like, little things would make me mad for no reason, or I’d feel angry or upset at something really quickly. And how sometimes, even when I knew I was being stupid, I couldn’t stop myself from doing the stupid thing anyway. I knew I’d get in trouble, but I acted before my brain could stop it, like it was having to wade through water to reach me.

Dr Lewis nodded a lot and wrote things down. Then she asked if I ever felt like things were “too much”, which I guess was her way of asking if I was depressed or whatever. I shrugged. “Sometimes,” I admitted. “Like when Mum’s working late and Amy’s being annoying and I've decided to try to make something for us to eat, but everything is in the dishwasher and it hasn't been on, and I just… don’t want to deal with any of it.” She smiled, but not in a “you’re pathetic” way. More like she got it. And then she said something I didn’t expect: “You’ve been trying to be the grown up, haven’t you?”

I think I just nodded. Dr Lewis kept talking, about how sometimes boys my age feel like they have to be men before they’re ready, and how that can make everything feel harder. She said my brain and my body weren’t quite in sync, and that’s why I kept swinging between wanting to be responsible and then acting like a little kid. I didn't agree that I'd been acting like a little kid but I kept that to myself. Some of what she said did make sense.

She told me she would like me to take something called Puericil, and then called Mum back in. And then she spent quite a while telling my Mum what it was. Mum asked a lot of questions, and the doctor answered. I sort of tuned out for a while to be honest. I'd heard of Puericil already. I'd seen it mentioned in articles in a magazine I read called "Boy Stuff". But I hadn't read those articles too closely. Health stuff didn't really interest me, you see.

Then she asked me to strip to my underpants and stand on some scales. I hesitated but I didn't want to make a fuss. I was trying to be mature about it. I did ask if Mum could wait outside, but Dr Lewis said no. She said I needed to not worry about being modest in front of my mother, as I was really still her little boy, and that I'd feel much happier when I accepted this. That seemed weird to me. I'm not a little boy, am I? Not anymore. But I didn't complain. I just shrugged and stripped off.

I stood there in just my boxers, feeling stupid, while she weighed me and then measured my height. Then she asked me to take off my boxers too. I hesitated again but I did do it. I could feel my ears burn but I tried not to show how embarrassed I was. Hopefully she didn't notice. She examined me all over, listening to my heart and lungs and pressing on my belly while I stared at the ceiling. Then she checked my balls. That was really embarrassing. She kept checking them against these plastic things to see which size matched. Something to do with finding out what stage of puberty I was at apparently. To make it worse, she examined my penis closely and even pulled back the foreskin to check underneath.

While she was doing this she was talking to Mum about me like I wasn't even there. "His penis is showing definite signs of Tanner stage 3," she said, "but with Puericil, we should see some regression to stage 2 characteristics within a few months." Then she turned to me and said, in this weird sing-song voice, "Now, sweetie, does your peepee ever feel extra sensitive?" I frowned. Why was she talking like that? It wasn't like she didn't know I was thirteen. She'd just been using proper words with Mum. "No," I muttered quickly.

She wasn't done though. "Do you ever Masturbate Owen? That means touching your peepee to make it feel nice?" My face must have been bright red by then. "I know what masturbating is," I snapped, before I could stop myself.

I know what it is and I have been doing it for a while now, but of course, I lied and told the doctor I didn't do it. I'm not sure if she believed me or not because I always look shifty when I lie, I can't help it, but she didn't ask any more about it, so maybe she did.

Then Dr Lewis ran her fingers lightly through the sparse fuzz above my privates. "And there's some soft pubic hair here," she said, almost approvingly. "But that is likely to come out in the bath over time.." The words hit me like a punch. "Wait…what?" My voice cracked a bit. "Like, it'll just... fall out?" I'd only just grown this, after months of checking in the mirror and wondering why it was taking longer than some of the other boys. It felt like proof I wasn't a little kid anymore!

Dr Lewis patted my shoulder like I was five. "It's nothing to worry about, sweetheart. Puericil just helps your body slow down a bit. That means some of the changes you've had might... soften." She glanced at Mum before adding, "It will allow you time to be ready for the changes before they fully happen."

My chest tightened, but I clenched my fists and stayed quiet. Mum was already nodding along like this made perfect sense. "So when will we start seeing changes?" she asked, as if she was asking about...well, I don't know, something normal!

Dr Lewis smiled. "Oh, within a few weeks, probably. And don't be alarmed if Owen seems a bit more emotional at first. Hormones can be tricky little things, and the Puericil can sometimes make them feel bigger before it makes them feel better."

All of this sounded pretty trash to me. Then she said, "Alright, Owen, I just need to do one last examination, okay? I need you to hop up on the table and lie on your back, with your knees pulled up. I need to do a quick internal exam. I'll be very gentle." She began to snap on gloves, and my skin went cold.

"No," I blurted, scrambling back. "No way." My face burned. I was pretty sure she meant that she was going to stick her finger up my ass. That wasn't happening! Mum sighed.

"Owen, stop being silly. The doctor needs to examine you."

"But…" My voice cracked, and I hated how whiny it sounded. Dr Lewis tilted her head. "Sweetheart, we do this for all boys who take Puericil. It's just routine."

I dug my heels in—literally—but Mum grabbed my wrist. "Stop showing me up," she hissed, low and sharp. "If you're going to act like a toddler, I'll treat you like one."

I felt quite embarrassed that she'd treat me like that in front of Dr Lewis, though I guess it was my fault for playing up in the first place. I didn't want her to say anything else, so reluctantly I climbed onto the crinkly paper and lay down. After Dr Lewis reminded me, I reluctantly pulled my knees up, arms crossed tight over my bare chest.

She then wheeled a chair over and sat down at the end of the table where I was fully exposed. Although apparently not enough as she casually pushed my knees a little wider apart which made me gasp accidentally. That was humiliating as well.

The cold gel made me flinch when she pressed a finger against my butt hole. I tried to move back instinctively, but Mum was right there, gripping my shoulder with a warning squeeze. “Stay still,” she told me, like I was getting a vaccination. I bit my lip and stared at the ceiling tiles while Dr Lewis pushed inside. The feeling was strange. Not painful, like I was expecting, but it did make my eyes water a bit.

I could hear her humming under her breath like this was nothing special while she wiggled her finger around inside me, pressing in different spots. Then she pressed one particular place and my whole body jolted. Heat flooded my face as I felt my willy stiffen against my stomach, completely out of my control.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to make it go away and praying Dr Lewis wouldn’t notice, but when I dared to peek, she was watching me with this clinical curiosity, her finger still moving inside me. I froze, mortified, but she just turned to Mum and said, “This is a common response. Totally normal. I'd be more concerned if it didn't happen.” I think I think I had started to shake and sweat with humiliation by this point, but fortunately the ordeal was almost over.

Finally, finally, she pulled her finger out and snapped off the glove. “All done,” she chirped. Meanwhile I was still lying there, still hard, my legs trembling. She tossed the glove in the bin and handed me a tissue without looking at me. “There you go sweetie, all done.” she said off handedly, already turning to write notes.

"Can I get dress now?" I asked, rising off the table sheepishly.

"Yes, of course, we're done with the exam Owen."

That was a relief, of course. I turned my back to get dressed. I know they had already seen all of me by now, but at least I could spare my self the indignity of being watched while I squashed my hard dick into my boxers.

As I pulled my shirt over my head, I heard Dr Lewis talking to Mum in a quiet voice. Something about "reverting to earlier routines" and "consistency." My ears burned as I caught snippets: "...back to bath time, not showers... helps reinforce the regression..." and "...earlier bedtime, ideally with a story..." I froze, one arm halfway through my sleeve. A story? Was she joking? I hadn't had a bedtime story since I was, like, eight.

Then it got worse. Dr Lewis tapped her pen against her clipboard. "And of course, discipline is key. He needs clear consequences for acting out. Something immediate and physical. Over-the-knee spankings would be ideal."

My stomach dropped. Spankings? I had never been spanked! I whipped around, my shirt still rumpled, but Mum was already nodding thoughtfully. "That makes sense," she agreed. He has been pushing boundaries a lot lately..."

Dr Lewis smiled like this was some kind of breakthrough and added, "And don't be afraid to bare his bottom for it. Skin-to-skin contact reinforces the lesson."

I couldn't breathe. My hands clenched around the hem of my shirt. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be. I opened my mouth to protest, but Mum cut me off with a sharp glance. "We'll discuss this at home, Owen."

I swallowed hard. Dr Lewis handed Mum a pamphlet called Puericil: A Parent's Guide and started scribbling a prescription. I wanted to rip it up. Instead, I just stared at my shoes, my face hot. That was nothing compared to what came next. The doctor showed my Mum...well I now know that it's the applicator for Puericil. Kind of made sense why she needed to examine my butt now. Apparently there are different types of Puericil. I don't know what the differences are, except I think some are stronger than others. The each have different ways you have to take it. I've been told with some, they are like big pills that get stuck up your butt and dissolve. Compared to that I feel lucky, but my version still goes up there. Anyway, I don't want to talk about it now. I'm sure I'll will tell you about it another time.

On the way out, Mum squeezed my shoulder. "This is going to help you, sweetheart," she said softly. I didn't answer. All I could think about was how Amy had smirked so hard when she'd caught me getting angry last month over a stupid video game. How was I supposed to live with her knowing Mum could pull down my pants anytime and spank me? I kicked a pebble in frustration on the way back to the car.

Helen’s Journal

I hope that the decision to take Owen to see Dr Lewis and to agree to start him on Puericil was not only the right one but one which will give us a fresh start and allow my little boy to get back on track and be himself again. I feel like I've gotten a lot of things wrong over the last couple of years, though it hasn't been easy for me since my ex husband walked out on us.

It's not been easy on any of us. Perhaps I spent too much time making sure Amy was alright, given that she was the youngest. Perhaps I got it wrong with Owen. Oh, I'm not blind, I could see him trying to be all grown up about it. Maybe it was easier for me to believe he was fine. I could see that he was trying to be the man of the house. Sometimes it was cute, sometimes it was genuinely very helpful. Other times I really could have done with him picking up his dirty laundry from his bedroom floor and putting it in the wash basket like I asked, instead of spending four hours trying to fix a tap, when I could have done that myself.

I don't think I let that show because I could see how proud of himself he was, but other times I would snap and shout at him for not doing what I needed him to, which wasn't pretending to be an adult. I feel very guilty about how I handled that. I mean, don't get me wrong, if you have kids, you might be able to relate to how frustrating it can be when your "to do" list keeps getting longer and longer and your kids just add to it and manage to make things harder even when they think they're helping. Or does that make me sound like a total bitch?

When Owen's grades started slipping and I started getting phone calls from his school, I think I knew there was no point in getting angry with him. I was angry with myself. I wasn't sure how best to help Owen but an idea popped into my head that Dr Lewis might be able to help. I mentioned, when I made the appointment, that I'd read about Puericil. I didn't tell Owen about that though, I thought I'd wait and see if she thought it would help, and if so, then...well, she could tell him!

I was glad she spent time talking to him properly about how he was feeling. I didn't sit in for all of that bit, because he'd probably have clammed up if I was there, but Dr Lewis told me afterwards what they'd talked about and I was surprised. Owen barely talks to me these days. He's usually either snapping at me for "nagging" or ignoring me completely. But apparently he opened up to Dr Lewis. She told me he talked about feeling angry all the time, and how he was frustrated that he couldn't seem to stop himself from doing things he knew would get him in trouble. She said he mentioned feeling overwhelmed, like everything was "too much" sometimes. That was when she asked if he'd been trying to act like the grown-up in the house.

That last bit made my chest tighten. Yes, I know, I already admitted that I knew he was doing this but I hadn't realized how much pressure he'd been putting on himself, or how much I'd accidentally let him.

And then there was the exam. I didn't realize it would be quite so thorough. I'd known Dr Lewis would need to check his physical development, obviously, but when she asked him to remove his boxers, I was a bit nervous of his reaction as I have to admit, I had deliberately not told him about this. I wouldn't have got him in there if I had. His cheeks and ears went pink as he hesitated, fingers hovering at his waistband. For a second, I thought he might refuse. But Dr Lewis just waited, calm as anything, and eventually he yanked them down and stepped out, staring fixedly at the floor. He was trying so hard to act unfazed, but his shoulders were rigid and I could tell he was embarrassed.

It was strange, seeing him like that. My little boy, but...not so little anymore. His body was caught between stages. The softness of childhood still clinging to his hips, but his legs longer, leaner. His chest had started broadening, just slightly. And then, well, down there. I'd known, intellectually, that he was growing up. But seeing the faint curl of dark hair, the way he had…matured. I quickly told myself not to stare.

Dr Lewis guided him onto the scale, checked his height, and some other things. He kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling tiles while she examined him, listening to his heart, pressing on his stomach. Then she checked his private area. I watched with interest as she gently pulled back his foreskin and frowned slightly. "Just a bit tight here," she noted to me, "Nothing concerning yet, but keep an eye on it. Might need some cream if it doesn't loosen naturally with the regression." Owen flinched but stayed silent, turning his head away from us both.

The real struggle came when she mentioned the internal exam. His head snapped up, eyes wide. "No way," he shouted. I saw the panic flash across his face before he masked it with defiance. Dr Lewis stayed perfectly calm. "It's just routine, sweetheart." But he shook his head, backing toward the door. That's when I stepped in. "Owen James Hicks," I said, sharp enough to freeze him mid-step. "You are not going to embarrass me like this. Stop acting like a baby and do as you're told." His shoulders hunched, but I saw the exact moment his resistance crumbled, the way his fingers twitched at his sides. I felt a little bad. Part of me wanted to protect my little boy, but I had to remind myself that that is precisely what I was doing by bringing him there.

He climbed onto the table like a condemned man, knees pulled up, face turned away. I held his shoulder. Just to remind him I was there. For support, but also that this wasn't negotiable. Dr Lewis was brisk, professional, but I couldn't miss how Owen's entire body tensed when she pressed inside. His sharp inhale. The way his toes curled. And then he started to get an erection. I almost intervened, but Dr Lewis caught my eye and gave a tiny shake of her head. "Normal," she mouthed. So I stayed silent, rubbing circles on his shoulder while he trembled, trying to pretend it wasn't happening. At first, given the undignified position he was in, it reminded me of the awkward moment when your baby gets an erection when you're changing his nappy and you pretend you haven't seen it. Come to think of it, he was pretty much in the 'diaper position'. There was something ridiculous about it.

When she was done and he got up off the table however, I noticed his penis swaying slightly from side to side as he moved, jutting straight out from his body. I was quite shocked at myself, the way, well I don’t want to say I found it arousing, but I looked for too long. I felt pretty guilty about this. At least I could easily hide it, poor Owen was exposed for all to see his humiliation. And there was something about even that...I don’t mean I enjoyed seeing him upset. But the motherly urge to make it all better was so strong, I briefly thought that the more humiliated he was, the more I could make it better afterwards. This was a strange thing to think. I'd like to discuss it with Dr Lewis, but to be honest I'll probably keep it to myself in case she takes it the wrong way.

Afterward, dressing in sullen silence, Owen wouldn't meet my eyes. The ride home was worse. It was silent, tense, brittle. He stared out the window, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm on his knees. I wanted to say something reassuring, but what do you even say? “Sorry about the finger in your bum, darling?” Instead, I gripped the wheel tighter and wondered how much of his childhood we'd just erased with that visit. Or, as Dr Lewis had promised, was I about to give it back to him?

I didn't discuss anything with Owen that evening in the end, as we were both tired. I did read a leaflet Dr Lewis had given me about Puericil however.

It was quite reassuring, although I have to say I was surprised at how comprehensive it was. Apparently Puericil is for boys aged 12-18 who have behavioural issues, depression or anxiety. It reverses or slows puberty, but doesn't stop mental development. Dr Lewis says that boys develop physically before they're emotionally ready, and Puericil helps them catch up.

It says that the boy will become more docile and easier to manage, but also happier and more content, which I hope will be true for Owen. I'd like him to be happier. He's been so angry and frustrated.

According to the leaflet, the drug prevents body hair from growing, and may make existing hair fall out. It also stops muscle development in most cases, although some types allow it to continue. That's a bit odd to think about. Owen won't grow taller or stronger while he's on it, but his mind will keep maturing. I wonder if he'll notice that difference? If he'll feel trapped in a body that isn't keeping up with his thoughts? Or perhaps I'm missing the point. Perhaps the point is that at the moment his thoughts, or at least his feelings and emotions aren't keeping up with his body?

One surprising part was about erections and sexual desire. Apparently Puericil reduces both, and in most cases eventually stops them altogether. If that doesn't happen, further treatment might be needed, which seems odd, because if the side effects don’t happen, surely that would be a good thing? Then again, I guess I need to stop thinking along the lines of Owen developing normally physically. The whole point is to allow him to be a little boy again until he is ready to grow up.

In rare cases, according to the pamphlet, the drug can actually cause the penis and testicles to shrink. That part made me pause. The leaflet was quick to say it's reversible when treatment stops, but still, I felt a bit uncomfortable about that. Stopping development is one thing, but I don't think I would have signed him up if I knew that some sort of physical reversal was definitely going to happen. We'll have to keep an eye on it, I suppose. And if it did happen, would Owen notice? Would he care? I'm not sure how aware boys are of these things at his age.

The next morning, Owen was already awake when I came downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table with his cereal untouched in front of him. He looked up as I entered, looking all serious, though this was not unusual for him these days. "So," he said quietly, "when do I start taking it?" His voice was flat, resigned. Like he'd already accepted this was happening, even if he didn't like it. I hesitated. I hadn't expected him to bring it up first.

"Well. There's no time like the present, sweetie. Finish your breakfast and I'll get the box".

OWEN’S JOURNAL

I woke up early this morning. I think it was because I was so tired last night that I fell asleep early too. I couldn't be bothered to get up though and just lay there thinking for over an hour, even though I needed a pee! Eventually I had to give in and get up.

When I was laying in bed the main thing I thought about was yesterday at the doctor's and having to take Puericil. I have a lot of questions and worries about it. I probably should have asked them yesterday, but I couldn't think at the time. I did decide, though, that I may as well give it a shot. The doctor said it can help me feel happier. I know a lot of adults take stuff for that, so why shouldn't I? It's probably better than talking drugs. You know what I mean, the other drugs. And I can tell that Mum seems to think it will help her. I felt pretty sad when I realised that because it made me feel like everything I've tried to do to help was no good and I failed. But again, being grown up means putting that aside and doing whatever it takes to do better. If that means Puericil, so be it.

By the way, I know I told you that the doctor had told me to stop trying to be grown up, but I don't have to listen to everything she says. I think taking Puericil and not making a big fuss is the grown up thing to do right now. Well, as it turns out, I didn't entirely succeed in being grown up about it later in the day, but still, here I am, and I've had my first dose.

Since I was up early, before anyone else was about, I helped myself to breakfast. I was eating, and thinking some more, when Mum came in. She said we may as well get started with the Puericil and since I knew it was going to happen at some point, I agreed, best get it over with.

I think I'd spent so much time worrying about if and how the Puericil might affect my body that I'd pretty much forgotten that I wasn't just going to be swallowing a pill. What happened instead was probably the most embarrassing moment of my life. And since second place was yesterday, I'm not having a good week!

After a while, Mum returned with a small box, looking uncertain. She was pulling one of those folded paper leaflets in several languages out of the box and scanning it. "Right," she said. "OK, Owen, let's..." She trailed off, frowning at the instructions. "It's a bit... involved."

I felt my stomach drop when she said we'd need to go upstairs to my bedroom. She told me to take off my pyjama pants and kneel on the bed, facing away from her. My face burned, this felt even worse than the doctor's office. At least she was, more or less, a stranger. But I gritted my teeth and wriggled out of my pyjamas while Mum busied herself opening the packaging. The crinkling sound made my skin prickle. "Uh, Mum?" I croaked. "Do you have to...?"

She didn't even look up. "Doctor's orders, sweetheart. Now get into position." Her voice was firm, but I caught the slight tremor. She was nervous too.

The applicator was this weird plastic syringe-looking thing, already filled with cloudy gel. Mum kept glancing between it and the leaflet, twisting it in her hands. "Which way round...?" she muttered to herself. Then - oh God! —she held it out toward me, pointing at the diagram. "Does this look right to you?"

My eyes scanned the paper. There was a crude drawing of a woman kneeling behind a naked boy, pressing the applicator there. My ears went so hot I thought they might melt off. "I...I dunno," I stammered, jerking my head away.

Mum exhaled sharply. "Fine, I'll..." She adjusted her grip, then pressed the cool tip against me. I tensed, then gasped as she pushed in. It didn't exactly hurt, but it felt very odd, like something was stuck inside me. Which it was, I guess!

"Hold still," Mum ordered. A second later, I felt the gel squirt inside (it felt really cold) before she pulled the applicator out quickly. That actually stung, and I complained to Mum to be careful. She did say sorry. The sensation of the gel inside me lingered for a minute, then faded to nothing.

"There you go, sweetheart", Mum said, "We need to do that every four days."

"Every four days?" I moaned, "Can't you get one that I don't need to take so often?"

"Unfortunately, no. Anyway, you were a brave boy today. I'm sure you will think there is nothing to it before long. I'll need to make a chart though. How many days in a week would there need to be for us to be able to just do it on the same days each week? "

Mum often says weird things like that.

Most of the rest of the day was pretty normal, and I didn't notice any difference from the Puericil. The school holidays have just started so I didn't need to worry about school. I just lazed about watching YouTube to be honest. I knew Mum wouldn't mind after I'd given up the first day of my break to go through that ordeal at the doctors yesterday.

Mum did call me down in the evening to go through some of the new rules quickly. Amy was leaving the living room as I came in, and I guessed from her smirk that Mum had been telling her first, which really pissed me off, and I did let Mum know I was cross with her. I thought she'd see that she had done wrong by talking about me to Amy when I wasn't there, but she just told me in a really calm and serious voice that I was being naughty and if I didn't stop and calm down I would be punished with a hard spanking. I was so shocked I didn't say any more. It kind of stopped me in my tracks. I don't think she is really going to spank me, I just didn't expect her to say that and didn't know how to react.

I sat and listened to the rules, and I didn't like most of them. I did tell her that. Anyway, she says it's the way it is now. We'll see I guess.

HELEN’S JOURNAL

I waited until Owen was upstairs in his room before pulling Amy aside yesterday evening. She'd been eyeing us both with that look of sharp curiosity of hers since we got back from the doctor’s. No surprise there. I sat her down at the kitchen table with a juice box, the way I used to when she was little and needed serious talks about sharing toys.

"Things are going to be a bit different around here," I started, watching her fingers trace the straw’s paper wrapping. "Owen’s medicine, the Puericil, it’s going to help him slow down. Like pressing pause on growing up for a little while."

Amy frowned. "But he’s already thirteen?"

"That’s just his body," I explained gently. "Inside, he’s not ready for all that yet. So we’re going to treat him more like... well, like he’s younger. The way you’d look after a little brother." Her eyes lit up then, and I knew I’d hooked her interest. "You mean like when he used to need help tying his shoes?"

"Exactly." I reached for her hand. "But it’s important. He might get cross or embarrassed, so you mustn’t tease him. Even if he acts big, we’ll be kindest by treating him small. That means reminding him about bath time, or checking he’s brushed his teeth. He isn't mature enough to be able to look after himself properly and I've been letting him down by leaving him to it." I hesitated before adding, "And sometimes, if he’s naughty, I’ll have to discipline him properly. Like I did when you were little."

Amy’s nose scrunched. "You’re not gonna... put him in timeout, are you?" The image almost made me laugh, but I kept my voice steady. "If he needs it, yes. Or even a spanking, if he’s very defiant." Her eyebrows shot up. "But he’s too big..."

"Emotionally, he’s not," I interrupted. "And letting him pretend otherwise just hurts him. This is medicine, Amy. Even if it doesn’t come in a syringe." She nodded slowly, but I caught the flicker of smugness as she sipped her juice. I’d have to watch that.

Later, when Owen stormed in (I guess he must have overheard snippets), I saw Amy’s smirk widen, just for a second, before she screwed up her face in a serious expression that was difficult not to laugh at. What helped with that, was Owen charging in and giving me both barrels of his attitude.

He was furious, and I was secretly thrilled at the confirmation that this was going to work. His temper tantrum was proof enough that emotionally, he was far younger than his chronological age. I let him yell, but eventually I told him in a low, firm voice, "Owen, if you continue to be naughty, I will not hesitate to take you over my knee and spank you."

I saw the words stop him in his tracks. He blinked, mouth slightly open, anger derailed by the sheer shock of it. Then, the anger returned, bubbling up from beneath his shock. "But..." he started, and I cut him off sharply. "No arguing." The shift in my tone seemed to work very well. His shoulders hunched slightly, and he went quiet, though I could see the storm still brewing behind his eyes.

I laid out the rules calmly. He is to be in his pyjamas by 7.30 each evening, lights out by 9. His face twisted in disbelief. "I'm too old for bedtimes! And anyway, that's far too early!" he protested, and I merely raised an eyebrow. His next objection, that baths were "for kids”, earned him a crisp smack on the thigh. Not hard, but enough to make him gasp. "You’ll bathe when I say," I told him, "It’s easier for me to supervise than a shower. You are not mature enough to be trusted to wash yourself thoroughly enough, so I’ll be checking behind your ears and between your toes, and...everything." I could feel myself starting to blush at that and had to quickly compose myself.

He of course had turned bright, stammering something about privacy, and looking so adorable. Again, one sharp look silenced him. His fists clenched at his sides, his breath coming too fast...exactly like Amy at six, mid-tantrum. The resemblance was uncanny; I almost laughed.

Then came the final humiliation as he saw it. My vetting his YouTube and ensuring his games and TV were age appropriate. His outraged "You can't!" was met with my my most practised I’m deadly serious face. "Watch me," I said simply. The fight drained out of him then, shoulders slumping in defeat. Again, I noted how he looked so much younger suddenly, lip trembling, like he might actually cry.

Victory. But I kept my face neutral, giving him a pat on the head as I walked past. He flinched, scowling, but didn’t pull away.

Oh yes, this was going to work. And I in case you think I sound mean, I had planned to end on a happy note. All this had been planned and rehearsed in my mind all day.

I knew from the stuff I'd been given to read, that Owen would need some more age appropriate clothes, and since I didn't want to humiliate him too much, I thought pyjamas were the perfect place to start. Puericil is common enough these days, that from time to time you see 16 or 17 year old boys out with their Mums shopping, dressed in little shorts and cartoon character t shirts, or cute teddy bear onesies. But I plan take it gently with my Owen.

I'd actually spent a fair bit of time picking out pyjamas for him, and I thought I'd let him choose a couple of sets from the five or six I'd saved on various online shopping sites. I imagined he'd be pleased, even excited to get to choose his new gift.

I was totally wrong, and maybe I should have realised I was expecting too much too soon, but at the time I actually felt hurt by his angry reaction. He was very naughty and the only reason I didn't spank him was because I recognised that I was upset and you can't punish a child responsibly when you are emotional. So I sent him to his room, which is exactly where he had planned to storm off to anyway.

I sat for a few moments to calm down, and ordered him the two pairs I thought he'd dislike the least - a batman pair and Minecraft ones, which I'm sure he'd prefer to the Paw Patrol and Bluey ones, even though he loved Paw Patrol not all that long ago.

Owens’ Journal

After Mum and I had a row last time I wrote, the next morning she agreed to postpone the new rules for a week to allow the effects of the drug to kick in first. She said she didn't know how long it would take to kick in fully, and after a week I haven't noticed any physical changes, thankfully, but I think I feel a little calmer. I don't know if I just think that because I'm expecting the Puericil to work, or if it actually is working, but I've felt quite relaxed this week and not angry very often.

I've had two more doses now. Mum's started doing it before I even get up (well, I can have a wee first if needed) so it doesn't feel so much like a big ordeal. I don't even have to get on all fours, she's worked out that if she pulls my pyjama pants down to my ankles while I lie on my front, I just have to push my butt up slightly and she can manage it. It feels less embarrassing like that, because I can squash my face into the pillow until she's done. Then I can get on with getting up, showering and dressing. That is, until yesterday morning when she told me she'd waited long enough and it was time to make some changes.

So last night, after dinner I was just settling down to watch TV, when Mum said "Bath time. Upstairs please Owen." I froze mid-sip of my juice and nearly choked. "What?" I spluttered.

"Bath time," she repeated calmly, ignoring my look of disgust. "I told you about the new rules. No more showers for now. I need to make sure you are properly clean and…" she trailed off, glancing at Amy, who was watching us with barely disguised glee. "Anyway, upstairs, please."

I opened my mouth to argue, but Mum's warning look shut me up. So I stomped upstairs, my stomach churning.

I found the bath already running when I got there, bubbles piled high. Mum had even put in some of those stupid bath crayons I'd loved when I was about six. "Ten minutes to relax," she said briskly, "then I'll be back to help you wash properly."

When she had gone I undressed and sat stiffly in the water, ignoring the crayons. This was humiliating. At least the water was the right temperature. I slid down and put my head as low in the water as I could, with my arms fully in and it felt nice. But then I heard Mum's footsteps returning all too soon. "Time to get clean," she announced, rolling up her sleeves.

"Right. Do you have to watch though? Can't I give you a shout when I'm done?" I asked.

"No, Owen, you know what is to happen at bath time from now on. Get on with it."

I started to wash my arms and chest with a flannel, but before too long she took it from me and before I could protest and started scrubbing my back. "You missed a bit here," she said, scrubbing quite hard, "you see, this is why I need to watch you, you don't do a good enough job by yourself. I'm just going to wash now, so we are not here all day!"

"Mum!"

Now I'm writing this I realise I must have sounded like a little boy complaining when I said that! But it was really embarrassing and annoying to have her wash me. She washed my neck and behind my ears with the flannel, then dropped it in the bath and washed my back, chest and tummy with her just her hands. And soap of course. It felt kind of nice, like a massage, but it was too embarrassing for me to enjoy it.

Then it got worse. "Stand up, please," she said matter-of-factly. My legs shook as I obeyed. She soaped up her hands some more and began washing the backs of my thighs, then she actually started touching my butt. I pivoted quickly out of the way, but she pulled me back firmly. I squeezed my hands into fists at my side, and closed my eyes in shame.

"The only thing you need to be embarrassed about, Owen, is the standard of your hygiene. Otherwise, a mother making sure her little boy is all clean is perfectly normal. Suddenly I heard another voice.

"Do you need any help?"

My eyes flew open and I jerked around to face the door way. "Amy! Get out of here!"

"Owen! Don't talk to your sister like that!"

"But Mum…"

"But nothing. If you keep misbehaving like this, you will get a smacked bottom before you know it! Amy, thank you for asking, but we're fine dear, run along for now."

Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut, but I didn't know that Mum was going to send her away anyway. I'm glad she did, because she still wasn't done with me.

Finally, she moved to the front. "Now your peepee and testicles," she announced, and then actually started touching me there! Her soapy fingers closed around me and she gently soaped my bits, not forgetting to pull my foreskin back briefly. She was quick at least, but despite being totally humiliated, I felt my willy getting stiff, pretty quickly. Before I could do anything to stop it, it was sticking right out. I felt like crying at this point, but Mum was OK about it, at least.

"Don't worry about that sweetie," she said softly, rinsing her hands. "These things happen. Peepees have minds of their own." She handed me a towel without meeting my eyes. "Dry yourself thoroughly. I'll be back to help you get dressed in five minutes."

Out she went and I wrapped a towel around myself. I spent at least four of my allotted minutes trying to think my stiffy away. I could hardly make it go away the way I normally prefer with the bathroom door open and Mum liable to walk in at any moment, could I? Finally it did go down, and I rushed to dry myself as best I could in the remaining time!

She came back in just as I was finishing drying my hair and handed me my new pyjamas. They were Batman themed - specifically Lego Batman!

"I'm not wearing those," I said.

"Come on Owen," Mum said softly, kneeling down on the bathmat, "Let's get you dressed." She held out the bottoms, shaking them out slightly. "Step in, sweetheart."

My face burned. "I can dress myself!" My voice cracked halfway through the sentence, making me sound about six. Mum didn't even blink. "I know you can, darling. But tonight, I'm doing it." She patted the fabric. "Left foot first."

I hesitated, torn between defiance and a slightly odd feeling that it was quite nice being looked after. Finally, I lifted my foot. Just an inch, but it was enough. Mum slid the pyjama leg over my toes with this little triumphant hum that made my ears hot.

"There we go," she said, guiding my other foot in. She tugged the waistband up to my knees before standing to pull them the rest of the way, her thumbs hooking into the elastic to avoid brushing my skin. As if that mattered after the bath.

The top was next. She shook it out, holding it wide and manhandling the fabric over my head. I was allowed to put my own arms in at least before her hands brushed over my shoulders, adjusting the seams gently.

"There," she whispered, kissing my forehead. "All snug."

I wanted to shove her away. I also wanted to bury my face in her shoulder. The conflict must have shown because Mum cupped my cheek, her thumb wiping away a stray eyelash. "Stop worrying about this, Owen. It's Mummy's job to worry. And Mummy's job to take care of you" she said.

I did feel calmer and comforted after that, so much so that I stood still while she combed my hair without it even registering what she was doing. And no, I didn't notice that she called herself "Mummy" at the time. I would have corrected her if I had. I haven't called her that since I was nine.

Apparently I have to have a bath every day now. It's annoying because I takes so much longer than a shower, but Mum says it has to be done.

That night I felt so tired I didn't feel a need to complain about my bedtime, like I had most of the week. I was glad for Mum to turn the light off. I gave Bumpy a hug and fell straight asleep. Bumpy, by the way, is my plush toy that I've had since as long as I can remember. He's always been tucked discreetly away in my bed. Usually he's just there, but sometimes if I've had a bad day I might give him a quick squeeze once the light's out and I'm alone. Just recently I've started cuddling him all night again. I missed him.

I opened one eye when I felt a kiss on my forehead, and saw Amy leaving. Even though she's two years younger, her bedtime is now half an hour later than mine, but I didn't care last night. I was tired. It was nice of her to kiss me.

Helen’s Journal

I felt almost giddy this morning with how well things have gone recently. True, Owen complains whenever a new step is introduced, but without any conviction or confidence, as though he knows it's a waste of time. And mostly, he only complains the first time. He's not always happy when it's Puericil time and I can understand that, poor baby, but overall he has been a very good boy.

He's even getting used to bath time quite quickly, though he does still put up a fight about me washing him. Even there, I think the main reason he fusses is because he has a tendency to get an erection when I wash his penis, which must be very embarrassing for him. I'm careful to be quick, and to not do anything to accidentally, well, encourage it, I suppose, but I have to wash it thoroughly of course.

Touching his erect penis was a very odd experience. I found it quite arousing, much as I had felt when I had seen him erect at the doctor's office. I was worried about this, and dialled Dr Lewis' number to talk to her about it, but then put the phone down again. When I’d picked up the phone, I was hoping she'd tell me it was normal to feel that way and that she'd have some tips for me on dealing with it. As I was about to tap "call", though, I suddenly got an image in my head of her reacting in disgust and horror, before calling the police. So maybe I'll keep it to myself. To be clear, if anyone does read this, I would never dream of doing anything to take advantage of, or hurt Owen. I'm just being honest about how I feel sometimes when I'm washing him.

Back to today. I think we had a real break through today, but it only came after I had finally had to go through with it and spank Owen.

It started when I was cleaning the bathroom, the worst chore of the week. Yes, I clean it once a week, I'm sorry if you clean yours everyday in between collecting your Nobel Peace Prize and running your latest marathon. I do my best.

Anyway I had my marigolds on and was feeling grumpy when I found pee under the toilet seat and on the floor next to the toilet. Not much but still too much. No prizes for guessing who's fault it was. I called Owen upstairs, and as I waited for him I had to remind myself to sound stern and authoritative, not angry.

I heard his heavy footsteps climbing the stairs—he always stomps when he knows he's in trouble—and when he appeared in the doorway, I pointed wordlessly to the toilet. His shoulders hunched immediately. "It was an accident," he mumbled.

"If you knew what happened, why didn't you clean it up, or at least tell me about it? We've talked about this before, Owen." I kept my voice low, exactly like Dr Lewis suggested. "You're old enough to aim properly."

"Urgh, gross, has he peed on the floor again?" Amy piped up from the hallway where she'd appeared like a nosy little ghost. Owen whirled around. "Go away!" he snapped, furiously.

That earned him a sharp gasp from me. "Apologize to your sister right now."

Owen looked at me as though this was thoroughly unjust, but he muttered a begrudging "Sorry." Amy grinned, leaning against the doorframe with all the smugness an eleven-year-old could muster. "Maybe you should sit down to pee like the rest of us," she suggested sweetly.

Owen looked ready to combust. "Get lost, and mind your own business, Amy!"

"That's enough," I cut in. Decision crystallized, I folded my arms. "Actually, Amy's right. Since you can't be trusted to use the toilet properly standing up, you'll sit down from now on."

Owen's mouth fell open. "What? No way!"

"And," I continued smoothly, "since you've proven you won't do it properly alone, you'll do it under my supervision!" This idea popped into my head on the spur of the moment, but I was pretty pleased with it.

Owen's reaction was even better than I'd hoped. His face went scarlet as he gaped at me. "You..you...can't!" he sputtered, actually stamping his foot against the tiled floor. I kept my expression stern.

Amy snorted, covering her mouth with both hands. "Oh my God, you're throwing a tantrum like a baby!" she crowed. Owen whirled on her and I thought he was going to shove her, but he stopped himself.

"Why are you making such a fuss, everyone else in the house sits to pee," Amy added with exaggerated patience, flipping her hair. "What makes you so special? Just 'cause you've got a little peepee?"

Owen made a strangled noise. "Shut up! It's not little! Is it Mum?" He turned to me, before changing his mind and the subject, "Why don't you go away, Amy, no one asked you to come in!"

I barely suppressed a laugh. His outrage was so transparently childish. But all the same I shot Amy a warning look. "Enough teasing," I said, though my lips twitched. Turning back to Owen, I squeezed his wrist gently. "The rule stands. You'll sit down to pee and until I know I can trust you, I will supervise."

His chest heaved like he'd been running. "Mum, please…"

"No arguments. First offense, warning. Next time, smacked bottom."

The bathroom fell silent. Owen's breath hitched audibly.

Amy broke the silence with a whisper. "Are you really going to spank him?" She sounded awed.

Owen's shoulders hunched further. I could practically see his mind racing...was I bluffing? After all the baths, the infantilizing, the Puericil... probably not.

"Only if he is naughty, Amy. Now, run along darling, while I deal with this."

Amy lingered, eyes bright with anticipation, but one firm look from me sent her scurrying away. Owen stood rigid, jaw clenched, his fists balled at his sides. "Get on the toilet please, Owen," I said, keeping my voice measured.

He hesitated, then sat down stiffly on the seat, his knees pressed together. A full minute passed in silence. "I don't need to go," he muttered, scowling at the tiles.

"Try," I urged gently.

He shifted uncomfortably, then let out a frustrated huff. "I can't when you're staring at me!"

"Well, you can sit there all day, or you can get on with it, Owen."

His face was flushed and I did feel bad for him. I wasn't enjoying this, but I needed to show him who was boss. But then he swore under his breath, something nasty he'd never dared say to me before. That was the tipping point, a challenge I had no choice but to react to.

"You were warned," I said quietly. I went to fetch a chair and brought it back to the bathroom, giving myself a few moments to let my anger pass. I was then able to continue calmly.

He was still sitting on the toilet, but now looking nervous. "I'm sorry, Mum", he mumbled.

"You are lucky I am not going to soap your mouth out for what you just said. But I am going to give you a spanking, for your own good."

His face briefly changed at that, and I could tell he wanted to sass back, but he didn't. A second later and he was back to looking nervous and submissive.

"Stand up," I ordered softly. He hesitated, just for a second, but obeyed. I guided him in front of me, then pulled him over my knee in one smooth motion. His gasp was sharp, startled, and I felt him stiffen as his pajama pants stretched taut over his round little bottom. He wasn't fighting me, not physically, but his whole body was rigid with resistance. That wouldn't do.

I pulled his pyjamas down over his hips and bottom, as far as his thighs, but they fell to his feet when I let go. "When you are spanked, it will be on the bare bottom, young man! And I hope you will not need it too often."

I raised my hand and brought it down sharply on his left cheek. Once, twice, three times, the crisp crack echoing in the small bathroom. Owen gasped, his legs kicking instinctively. Four, five, six, his skin pinked under my palm, warm and smooth.

I continued until I had counted fifteen in my head. Owen had taken them with impressive composure, although he let out a long, low groan just before I stopped.

I paused, to give him a break rubbing his back gently, but I also took the opportunity to reinforce the lesson. "This is happening because you were irresponsible and disrespectful," I said firmly. "You know better than to leave a mess and then snap at your sister when she is only trying to help." His head bobbed in a jerky nod, his hair brushing against my knee.

It was time to continue. The next ten smacks came slower, sharper, each one landing with deliberate precision across the crest of his bottom with a satisfying smack! This time his composure had cracked.

"Ow! Mu..Mum, stop! Pleeease!" Owen's voice cracked mid-plea, his legs kicking uselessly. His hands scrabbled against the tile floor, fingers splayed like he was trying to claw away from the sting. After another ten I figured it was enough. My hand was starting to sting in any case.

"Stand up," I ordered. He scrambled upright, nearly tripping over his pooled pyjama bottoms. And that's when I saw them - tears. Not just the glassy sheen of held-back frustration, but proper tears streaking down his flushed cheeks, his lower lip trembling.

"I.…I'm sorry, Mummy!" he sniffed.

Something inside me melted. All the sternness evaporated as I pulled him into my lap, his bare bottom pressing warm against my thigh. He curled into me instinctively, his face burying against my shoulder as his body shook with quiet sobs. "Shhh, baby," I whispered, stroking his hair. "It's all done. You were a brave boy." His skin was hot under my palm as I rubbed slow circles on his back.

He hiccuped against me, his fingers clutching my shirt. "D-Didn't mean it...."

"I know, sweetheart." I kissed his temple, tasting salt. His hair smelled faintly of the baby shampoo I'd started using for his baths. I was lightly, humming under my breath the way I used to when he was small enough to cradle. His breathing slowed, his tense limbs going slack against me.

Amy's voice piped up from the hallway, tentative. "Mum? Is he okay?"

I glanced over to see her hovering in the doorway, eyes wide. Owen stiffened, but didn't lift his head. "He's fine," I said firmly, smoothing his hair. "Aren't you, darling?"

He gave a tiny nod against my shoulder.

Amy hesitated, then, to my surprise, stepped forward and patted Owen's arm. "Sorry for teasing," she said.

Owen peeked at her, his face still blotchy. “...S’ok."

I hid a smile against his hair. Maybe this was working after all! There was one thing left to resolve, though. I wasn't sure whether to insist again that Owen use the toilet for me. Would that be pushing him too far? Or would failure to do so undermine the whole point of me disciplining him? At the time an instinct told me that it would probably be the later, although I wasn't sure and probably didn't sound as confident as I needed to when I asked him;

"Do you think you can do a wee for me now, darling?"

Fortunately, he just sniffed, nodded and sat down on the toilet. Almost immediately I heard a steady stream of urine entering the toilet bowl. Owen didn't even make an effort to close his legs to hide himself this time, although he sat with his head bowed.

I praised him for being a good boy, of course, and made him a hot chocolate with whipped cream to cheer him up. I do wonder if I went to far by making a big deal out of the whole toilet incident, or was it necessary to have a flashpoint in order to properly establish our new boundaries?

OWEN’S JOURNAL

Today was a much better day than yesterday. Everything seemed to go wrong yesterday, and I was too tired to even write a journal, so I'm writing one earlier today to make up for it. Mum spanked me for being naughty! I'm supposed to write about everything that happens in my journal but I just want to move on from that. I embarrassed myself by playing up and then by crying, so I don't want to think about it now.

On the plus side, Mum has been fussing over me today, but in a good way like she used to when I was ill. I don't know why, but I may as well enjoy it. Right now I'm on the sofa under a blanket watching TV. I can hear Amy doing the dishes in the kitchen so I feel like I'm winning for once! And she has backed down on the ridiculous rule about not using the toilet alone. She’s trusting me to sit down to pee without her checking. I suppose that’s not so bad.

Mum has really limited my phone time unfortunately, and even what I can watch, so I'm just chilling out watching Spongebob. I used to love this show. I only stopped watching it because someone at school took the piss. It's nice to see it again. I've had some ice cream as well! I'll probably get up and ask Mum to get me lunch in a moment. I'll come back to this later.

***
I'm in bed now. It's 9.05pm and Mum is nagging me because it's passed my bedtime, but I reminded her that Dr Lewis told me to write this journal everyday, and I haven't had a chance yet, so she told me to hurry up, or I won't have time for a story.

Did I mention that before? Mummy reads me bedtime stories now. I did think that was going to be awful, I mean, stories are for babies, right? But actually, it's not so bad. Quite nice even. It's better to fall asleep to a story than with your phone in your hand mid doom-scroll. And I made sure she didn't read me anything childish. I've got her reading Harry Potter at the moment actually. That should take a while. I'm always sleepy by the end, if not before. I had thought I wouldn't possibly be able to sleep, going to bed so early, but I do. I don't know if that's something to do with Puericil as well. Anyway, it's alright. I like waking up full of energy again, instead of feeling like a zombie.

I've wasted so much time telling you about the stories, I'm going to have to leave this till tomorrow.

***

Good morning! Or whatever it is when you read this. If anyone ever does read this, I assume you are Dr Lewis? Anyway, for the second day in a row I'm writing in the morning so I'll get on with it.

So back to yesterday, after a nice lazy morning I went to ask for lunch and was surprised when Mum said we were going out for lunch. It was fine by me though. Amy went to her friends house for the afternoon. We dropped her off and went to a cafe in town. When we got there I got a milkshake and while I was waiting for my food, Mum suddenly started talking to a random woman who came in with a little boy with red hair and freckles.

He stared at me, and I stared at him, then looked impatiently at Mum who was droning on. It was only then that I caught on that she had been expecting to see this woman.

"Owen, this is Jamie," she said brightly, her fingers tightening just slightly on my shoulder (her be polite and don’t embarrass me grip.) "Jamie is thirteen too! Why don't you boys sit and get to know one and other while I have a talk with Mrs Coombes?"

Thirteen? My eyes flicked back to the boy who was shifting awkwardly in a striped t-shirt with a cartoon train on it, and shorts that were looked ridiculous. They were far too short. His knee socks had little ducks embroidered at the tops. His freckles stood out against his pale cheeks, which were turning pink under my scrutiny. He looked about eight.

"No way," I blurted.

"Owen!" Mum hissed.

Jamie's Mum, a thin woman with the same red hair but longer, smiled tightly. "Jamie's been on Puericil for six months now. Such a difference, isn't it, darling?" She patted Jamie's head like he was a well-behaved spaniel. He ducked away, scowling at the floor.

Mum nudged me forward. "Why don't you two sit together? Get to know each other while we chat."

"No thanks," I muttered, already stepping back.

Jamie shot me a grateful glance, but his Mum tsked. "Don't be shy, Jamie. You love making friends!"

Mum's hand landed firmly between my shoulder blades. "Owen, sit!"

I slumped into the booth opposite Jamie, arms crossed. The plastic seat squeaked under me. For a long moment, we just avoided looking at each other.

"So," Jamie said finally, stirring his milkshake with a stupid grin on his face. "What school do you go to?" His voice was higher than I expected. Not quite a kid's squeak, but nowhere near as deep as mine.

"St. John's," I muttered, picking at a chip in the table's laminate.

Jamie brightened. "Oh! My cousin goes there! Do you know"..

"Don't think so." I cut him off before he could name anyone.

Silence. Jamie tapped his plastic cup rhythmically. "Do you like football?"

"It’s alright.” I did actually, but did not want to be drawn into a conversation.

"Video games?"

"Not anymore." That wasn't strictly true either, but I choose to take my bitterness over being banned from playing some of my favourite games out on him.

Jamie's shoulders sagged. He looked down and started fiddling with his straw again. I felt a pang of guilt and sighed.

"...I still play Fortnite sometimes," I offered grudgingly.

Jamie's head jerked up. "Really? Me too!" His grin was suddenly back.

"I've just started playing it again recently."

"Maybe we can play together sometime?" He asked hopefully.

"I don't know, perhaps."

There was another awkward pause. I could hear Mum was having no such problems, she was talking like a machine gun. Jamie suddenly looked up again.

"Mummy wants me to make friends with other boys on it. You know...Only I'm not very good at making friends."

Jamie seemed like the most hopeless case! A total nerd. But I'm not an asshole. I was worried he was going to cry or something, so after a quick look around to make sure I couldn't be clocked by anyone from my school, I let my guard down and tried to be nice to him.

"Who's your favourite Marvel character?" I asked, and I swear I saw his entire face light up like I'd thrown him a lifeline.

"Spider-Man!" he blurted, then immediately turned pink and added in a smaller voice, "Especially in Into the Spider-Verse. Miles is...cool." He fidgeted with his socks and I guessed he was embarrassed about still liking cartoons. Which was stupid, because I'd literally been watching Spongebob that morning. And anime is cool, and that’s cartoons. Mum is funny about letting me watch Japanese shows at the moment because she doesn’t know anything about them. Anyway, back to lunch…

"Yeah, Miles is awesome," I said, and meant it. Something loosened in Jamie's shoulders. He leaned forward a little, elbows on the table.

"Do you think" ..He hesitated, then whispered, "Do you think they'll ever make a live-action Miles? With, like, an actual kid playing him? Not some twenty-year-old pretending?"

I snorted. "Doubt it. Hollywood hates letting real teenagers be teenagers." The second it was out of my mouth, I realized how loaded that sounded. Jamie's grin faltered, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass.

"Yeah," he Mumbled. "Guess we wouldn't know much about that anymore, huh?"

Silence. The cafe noise around us suddenly felt too loud. Jamie wouldn't meet my eyes. I cleared my throat. "So. Uh. How long you been on...it?"

"Six months." He tugged at his shorts. They really were stupidly short and I noticed the way he kept trying to tug the legs down. "Started right after my thirteenth birthday. Mum said I was 'emotionally stunted.'" He made air quotes with his fingers. "You?"

"Like, three days." I glanced over at our Mums, still deep in conversation. Mrs. Coombes was nodding enthusiastically while Mum scribbled notes on a napkin. Great. I leaned towards Jamie and lowered my voice. "I got spanked for the first time yesterday. Does that happen to you?"

Jamie's eyes went round. "Really? Already?" He sounded weirdly impressed. "It took my Mum weeks to work up to that with me. But yes, I get spanked all the time now. I mean..." he looked quickly over his shoulder at his Mum, then back to me, embarrassed, "not all the time, but when I'm naughty."

I shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the heat creeping up my neck. "Yeah, well. I kinda earned it myself." Another pause. Then I asked, "Does it...get easier? The whole...Puericil thing?"

Jamie studied me for a long moment. Then, to my surprise, he reached across the table and patted my hand. Just once, quick and awkward. "You stop caring as much," he said softly. "After a while."

"And that's a good thing? That sounds like giving up!"

"It is, in a way. But when you do it, you realise you were fighting yourself. Once you don't care anymore, you'll feel happy. Honest!"

It sounded pretty dark at the time, but actually, I think he's probably right.

"Do you have a sister, Jamie?"

"No. Or a brother. I'm an only child."

"You're lucky! I have an annoying sister."

"Don't say that! You're lucky. People say only childs....I mean children..are spoiled but," he leaned in now and whispered so I could barely hear, "that’s bullshit! I was never treated any differently, except that I'm on my own all the time."

I didn't know what to say to that so we sat quietly again for a moment. Thankfully, Mrs Whats-her-face, Coombes, I think, turned around and rescued us.

"Are you boys getting along?" she asked cheerfully.

"Oh, yes," Jamie said quickly, glancing at me with hopeful eyes.

I hesitated. Mum was watching me with that look. The one where her eyebrows do this tiny lift that means 'be nice or else.'

"Yeah," I Mumbled. "He's alright."

Mrs Coombes clapped her hands together. "Oh, how lovely! Jamie doesn't have many friends his own age these days." The way she said it made me wonder if 'his own age' meant something different now.

Mum jumped in before I could overthink it. "Owen, why don't you invite Jamie over sometime? We could arrange a play date."

My face burned. A play date? Like we were toddlers? But Jamie's face lit up like it was Christmas morning, and Mum was giving me that warning squeeze on my shoulder again.

"Uh. Yeah. Sure." I forced a shrug. "You wanna come over sometime?"

Jamie nodded so fast his fringe bounced. "Yes please! Mummy, can I?"

Mrs Coombes beamed. "Of course, darling! We'll arrange it with Owen's Mummy."

Jamie grinned at me, and I couldn't help smiling back for some reason.

Mum squeezed my shoulder again, in approval this time. "We'll sort it out," she said to Mrs Coombes, and they launched back into their conversation, leaving Jamie practically vibrating with excitement across the table.

"Maybe we could play Fortnite," he whispered.

"Yeah. Maybe." I took a sip of my milkshake to hide my face. It was weird, part of me wanted to roll my eyes, but another part was relieved. Like maybe this Puericil thing wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't alone in it. There were plenty more questions I'd like to ask Jamie when we had a little privacy. Plus, it would be nice to have company, and sadly, I was dreading seeing my old school friends now.

Jamie's leg bounced under the table. "Do you have a favourite skin?"

I decided to lighten up and all of a sudden we were talking like we’d been friends for ages, while our mothers planned our lives around us. I didn't know it then, but that was the moment everything started changing. Properly changing. Not just the Puericil, but everything else too.

(End of File)