A Puericil Journey

A Puericil Journey 2

[12,778 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 TWO

Helen's Journal

The last few days, things have continued to go very well. Owen continues to gripe and complain at any new change, but once that change has been enforced, he appears to accept it quickly. He certainly has changed quite a bit, but I'm relieved that his personality hasn't really. It's the same old Owen, but calmer, for the most part, and happier. More submissive, too, and while I wouldn't want him to be that way when he goes out in to the world, for now, and certainly at home, it is helpful and better for him.

I've arranged for Mrs Coombes' little boy to come for dinner in a few days time and I hope Owen will bond with him. He needs company his own age and gender and really, it needs to be a boy who is also on Puericil, otherwise I'm afraid someone who wasn't on the drug would either tease Owen, or worse, somehow undo the work we have been doing. I'm hoping Jamie will help reinforce it.

I had a busy day today, although mostly not with Owen, who has been quietly amusing himself. I did give him his second spanking yesterday for smashing a glass in the kitchen, when I had told him to wait for me to get it for him. It was quicker and less emotional this time, but did the intended job, and we had a quick cuddle once Owen had been suitably chastised.

No, Owen's Puericil journey has been the main order of business on my 'to do' list today, but it's mostly involved talking to other people. To start with, I grabbed Amy for a little heart to heart about what has been going on and how she feels about it. I did explain to her when we first came back from the doctors, but I realised this morning, that I hadn't had a chance to catch up with her to make sure she understands what is going on and is feeling OK. She is a very mature girl, and I needn't have worried. She has a good grasp of why Owen needs out help and why we sometimes have to do things that might seem mean, for his own good, but that we must always make sure he knows we love and care for him.

The chat went so well, in fact, that I've asked Amy to step up and help more with things like Owen's bath time and potentially even discipline, although I'll see how that one goes. I don't want to risk either over-burdening her, or her somehow hurting Owen. Of course, she would never do that deliberately.

The next thing was a video call with Dr Lewis to give her an update and ask some questions.

I confirmed what had gone well so far and how Owen was doing. She asked abut physical changes and I reported that, as expected, what pubic and leg hair he had has pretty much fallen out now. He didn't have any chest hair yet anyway. He's lost his little caterpillar that was beginning to form above his upper lip as well. I know he was sad about this, so I told him he might as well think himself lucky that he doesn't need to worry about shaving for a while yet.

Apart from the hair I haven't noticed any other physical changes yet, and I'm quite pleased about that as I don't really see the need for any regressive changes, though I know that these can happen as side effects of the drug in some cases. While we were on the subject I mentioned that he still sometimes gets erections while he's being washed. I didn't just blurt that out, by the way, it seemed to be relevant to the conversation.

Dr Lewis said that it was quite normal if the drug had not prevented him getting them, and that I handled it the right way. She said that as time goes on , the drug might still remove the problem. If not, I will have to choose between upping his dose, with the associated increased risks of other side effects, or decide how I want to supervise his "urges" so that it is not just left to him. This, apparently, would cause him stress, so she said I'd have to choose one option or the other by his next appointment, and she'd discuss my choice with me further after that. I think she recommends the first option, and that does sound easier for all concerned, but I still have my worries about the side effects. I understand that the drug prevents puberty from progressing further while it is taken, but I personally don't want to see any physical regression beyond what has already taken place, or feel that it would be justified.

He's due a check up soon. If you are giving your son Puericil, you have to take him to the prescribing Doctor for checks every so often to make sure everything is OK, or they will stop the prescription.

Having gotten these chats out of the way, I called Mrs Coombes to confirm Owen's play date with Jamie and had a nice little chat with her.

I was taken aback when she told me how things are at home for Jamie. His bedroom has apparently been fully redecorated as an "eight year old's dream room" - racing car bed, glow-in-the-dark stars plastered across a sky-blue ceiling and other childish things like a dinosaur lamp. "He adores it," Mrs Coombes confided, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Boys his age haven’t really grown out of such things, they just start to believe they are too old for such things. Jamie doesn’t care now which is wonderful, because I couldn’t afford anything so good when he was 8."

That was interesting. Owen still had his band posters and football bedding, more typical of a boy his age. I hadn’t changed his room, he just had earlier bedtimes. But what really made my pulse stutter was her casual mention of Jamie's wardrobe, or lack thereof. "Oh, he's nude most days unless we have company," she laughed casually, "It started as a punishment, but he's so much better behaved this way and is quite happy running about nude now. Unless we have guests of course. In fact, provided it’s family or friends I see no need for him dress, although he doesn’t see it that way. When he is dressed, the clothes I do put him in are deliberately infantile. It helps remind him that he is a little boy, and he’s happier as long as he remembers that, and doesn’t get any silly ideas about growing up before he’s ready."

I made some vague noise of agreement while my free hand pressed against my suddenly warm collarbone. The mental image of Jamie padding around naked had invaded my mind. She seems quite a formidable woman!

"The nudity works wonders for reinforcing proper behaviour," Mrs Coombes continued brightly, "can you imagine anyone taking you seriously when you were cross if you were naked? And Dr Lewis says the exposure therapy helps him internalize his regression. Of course, you'll want to ease Owen into similar routines gradually..."

"Oh, we're taking things slow," I interrupted quickly. "One step at a time for now."

A pause. Then her knowing chuckle. "The first time I spanked Jamie, I thought he'd die of shame. But now he's quite used to bare-bottomed discipline. In fact, If he goes too long without a spanking, he'll ask for one. Otherwise, he starts getting negative thoughts and feelings about himself. The spankings make him feel better. You'll see."

Yes, it was a strange conversation. I resolved to be as focused as possible on doing what's best for Owen, and Amy, and couldn't imagine any justification for humiliating him for the purpose of discipline or punishment.

I had so many thoughts worrying me after that, that I found reading to Owen at his bedtime to be as relaxing and therapeutic as he did! Then, there was just time to watch a quick show with Amy before I had an early night myself.

OWEN’S JOURNAL

Good morning. I’ve started writing these in the mornings now as I’m always up for a while waiting for everyone else. Speaking of mornings, there's only one thing worse than waking up with a full bladder when you want to stay all cosy in bed in the morning, and that is waking up with a stiffy when you need to get up.

I can't remember when I started getting them, and it wasn't a problem until recently. I'm not sure if it is supposed to be a problem now, but for some reason since I've been taking Puericil, I've tried to avoid touching myself. Not that I've been told to, nobody has said anything about it. It's not something you talk about. But I haven't really felt like it much, and when I do I feel guilty for some reason.

When you get them during the day, you can make them go away with a bit of effort. But for some reason it doesn't work when you wake up with one. It just stays there asking why you are ignoring it.

Yesterday morning when it happened, I decided to give in after a while. After all, no one has said not to, so what's the harm? I'd almost forgotten how fun it was, I'd managed to not do it for so long. Unfortunately, being out of practise, I'd also forgotten to have a tissue ready, and by the time I realised my mistake it was too late. It made a lot of mess and unfortunately a lot of it went on my mattress. Maybe it’s because it had been so long, but I'd never seen so much before.

I got some tissue and started to try to clean it when I heard Mum coming so I jumped back in bed and pulled the duvet over me. Normally the obvious thing to do would be to tell her to go away, and get up again when the coast was clear. Unfortunately, I can't really do that now, especially as today was Puericil day, so I knew she would probably just pull the duvet off me and be suspicious or cross if I stopped her.

I guess pressure brings out the best in me because I had a last second moment of inspiration that I'm quite proud of. I've never had a wet dream. I know what they are because of a cringey sex ed class in school. But I never had one. I guess I played with myself too often! But Mum doesn't know that, so at the last moment I tried to look all upset and confused and told her "something happened." Genius, wasn't it!

Her eyebrows lifted. "What do you mean, sweetheart?"

I bit my lip, lifting the duvet slightly and looking down. "I... woke up sticky. Down there. I didn't mean to!"

Mum's face softened instantly. She perched on the edge of my bed, brushing hair from my forehead. "Oh, Owen, that's perfectly normal. It's called a wet dream. All boys get them."

"But..." I peeked up through my lashes. "Even now? With the medicine?"

"Even now," she confirmed, squeezing my shoulder. "It’s nothing to be ashamed of."

I let my lower lip wobble for effect. "It's gross though."

She laughed softly and tugged the duvet down despite my half-hearted grab for it. "Let's get you cleaned up, hm? Then fresh sheets."

As she bustled to the linen closet, I hid my grin in my hands. Success. Not only had I avoided trouble, but now I had an excuse for any future “accidents”. Mum thought it was involuntary. Perfect!

When she returned with clean bedding, she paused, studying the mess with a clinical eye. "There’s quite a lot of mess for your first time," she murmured.

Whilst it was embarrassing having her looking at it like that, I almost giggled at the idea of it being my first time. I'd been playing with it since before anything could even come out.

But Mum just shook her head, smiling. "Must've been building up. Poor thing." She ruffled my hair. "Go shower, darling. I'll handle this."

I shuffled to the bathroom, heart pounding. She bought it! Completely.

Should I be writing this in my journal? Dr Lewis, if it is you reading this, remember doctor-patient confidentiality please. You can't tell Mum!

OWEN’S JOURNAL

It started with the Discord notification at 6:15 AM. A ping loud enough to wake me but not Mum. Stupid. So stupid. I knew the rules: no devices until she was up to supervise. But my fingers itched to reply to Jamie’s message about some new Fortnite skin, and before I knew it, we were trading messages about which was cooler, Ghost Rider or Wolverine. I didn’t even hear her footsteps.

I was so lost in it that I didn’t hear Mum come in. I sort of sensed her standing over me when it was too late. My throat went dry. She didn’t shout. Just held out her hand, palm up, waiting. When I hesitated, her voice went quiet in that way that’s worse than yelling.

“Owen….”

I handed it over. I protested that it was just Jamie. I could see she didn't believe me, so very briefly felt a little smug when she checked my phone and saw that I was telling the truth. That didn't last, as rules were rules, so I knew I was still going to be in trouble.

She sat on the sofa and pulled me over her lap before I could even stammer out an apology. One arm clamped across my back like a seat belt, the other yanked my pyjama bottoms down to my knees in one practiced motion. I don't wear underwear under pyjamas, so the cool air hit my bare skin.

“You know why this is happening,” she said, as her palm cracked down. The first smack stung, more than I remembered from last time. I kicked reflexively, but her grip didn’t ease. “Rules keep you safe, Owen. They’re not arbitrary….Smack!…Ignoring them…smack!…shows me you’re not mature enough…smack!…to handle privileges yet.”

I bit my lip hard. The spanks came slower now, each one deliberate, letting the sting build. My legs flailed uselessly and I started to cry. The worst part wasn’t the pain, it was the feeling of having let her down. “You’ll stay bare-bottomed until lunch time,” she added during a pause, fingertips grazing the hot skin of my thigh. “So you remember.”

"Whaaat?"

"Uh-hum! Do you want it to be all day?"

"But Mum!"

"No buts!"

The final smack landed with a sharp crack! that took my breath away. Then, silence. Just the sound of Mum's slightly heavy breathing and my own sniffles. Her grip loosened. I braced for her to push me off her lap, but instead, she pulled me upright against her chest. I blushed even more as her arms wrapped around me, squeezing tight. "There now," she murmured into my hair. "All done."

Her heartbeat thudded against my ear. One hand rubbed slow circles between my shoulder blades while the other held me firmly to her around the small of my back. I began to relax slightly.

"The internet's full of nasty people, Owen," she said softly. "Even if it was just Jamie this time. Next time, it might be some stranger pretending to be a boy your age." Her fingers traced my spine absently. "They’ll say all the right things to get you trusting them. Make you think they understand you better than I do."

I swallowed hard. I thought I knew what I was doing, but I guess she wasn't wrong. "I know," I mumbled into her collarbone.

"Do you?" She tilted my chin up, her eyes searching mine. "Because if you really knew, sweetheart, you'd wait for me to check your messages like we agreed." Her thumb brushed away a tear I hadn't realized had escaped. "What if someone sent you a link that installed spyware? Or worse, made you think you'd met your soulmate at thirteen, and then somehow tried to blackmail you?"

I squirmed. "That wouldn't happen."

"It could." Her arms tightened around me again.

"I'm sorry, Mummy."

"Well, there's no need to be upset about it now, your spanking is finished. You are to stay bare bottomed until lunchtime so that the lesson sinks in, and then we'll say no more about it."

I nodded. "Yes Mummy."

Mum kissed my forehead and let me go. "Good boy. Now, let’s go have breakfast."

I had no choice but to traipse into the kitchen as I was. Amy stared and then asked about it of course. Mum spoke for me and explained what was going on. She nodded like it all made sense.

Once I'd eaten, I headed upstairs. I grabbed my book and climbed into bed, enjoying the peace and quiet, and the fact that, with my duvet over me, I had cheated a little bit on having to stay naked.

Mum came in about ten minutes later and pulled the duvet right off. "What did I say?" She folded her arms.

"But Mum! Nobody's in here!"

"Nevertheless, rules are rules."

"But it's freezing!"

She sighed. "It's July. Come downstairs, I don't want you curled up here feeling sorry for yourself." She pinched my ear lightly. "Downstairs, now."

"Fine," I muttered, dragging myself up.

"And no hands in front," she added as I instinctively reached to cover myself. "Hands on your head."

I groaned but obeyed, padding downstairs with my fingers laced behind my skull. The kitchen tiles were cold underfoot. Mum settled at the table with her coffee, watching me over the rim of her mug with that calm, unreadable expression that drove me crazy. “Since you disobeyed me, you can stand in the corner.”

Amy wandered in, took one look at me, and smirked. "Nice show," she said, grabbing an apple.

"Shut up!"

"Amy," Mum warned. Then to me, "Fifteen minutes in the corner. Then you can watch TV."

It was the longest quarter-hour of my life. Every shuffle of feet, every sip of Mum's coffee, every rustle of Amy's magazine felt amplified. The worst was when our neighbour Mrs. Perkins stopped by to drop off some mail and Mum let her walk into the kitchen! I had to stand there, hands on head, while she chatted with Mum about the weather. I swear she was staring at my bare bottom at one point, but it was hard to tell as I had to crane my neck around to see and Mum kept telling me to stay facing the wall.

Finally, mercifully, Mum checked her watch. "Alright, go on with you. Living room."

I sat carefully on the sofa as my butt was still a little sore. Cartoons flickered on the screen but it was hard to concentrate. Amy kept wandering in and out and smirking at me.

By lunchtime I was able to dress at last, and I spent the afternoon quietly in my room. By the way, in case you are wondering why I'm never at school, it is still the summer break and will be for several weeks yet, which is great. I'm a bit worried about going back to school. I think I should be able to keep the Puericil thing quiet, especially if I'm careful when I have to change for sports and so on. Mum has mentioned home schooling. I do like the idea of not having to go to proper school again, but I'm not sure Mum will be able to teach me properly and I do want to pass my GCSE's. I found out from Jamie this morning that part of the reason my Mum has been talking to his, is because they are considering joint home schooling. My first thought on that is...well, I'll wait and see if I have a second one.

I might has well have not bothered getting dressed as a few hours later Mum announced that I needed to go and have a bath. I've got used to my baths now. I don't hate them, it's more annoying that they take up so much time when I could be doing something more fun. I got a shock today though, as Mum told me that Amy was going to bathe me, because she was busy.

"I'm thirteen," I hissed, grabbing Mum's sleeve as she turned to leave the bathroom. Steam curled around us from the running water and I felt like it was about to come out of my ears as well! "I don't need a baby-sitter in the tub! And besides, Amy is younger than me!"

Mum sighed, rubbing her temple like I was giving her a headache. "Sweetheart, we've been over this several times. Emotional maturity isn't about calendar years. Amy handles responsibilities you still struggle with. You can't even remember to scrub behind your ears." She peeled my fingers off her arm one by one. "I need to make sure you are properly clean. And safe. You fell asleep in the bath last week, remember?"

My face burned. "That was once..."

Her voice softened as she cupped my chin. "This isn't punishment, Owen. It's help you need."

The door creaked open. Amy stood there holding a yellow rubber duck and a smirk that made my stomach twist. "Ready for your scrub-a-dub-dub?" she singsonged.

"Get lost, Amy!" I whirled back to Mum. "You can't…"

"Enough." The sharpness in her tone froze me mid-protest. "Either accept Amy's help willingly, or you'll get the spanking of your life and then she will bathe you." She kissed my forehead, "So be good."

"Oh, don't be sore, Owen!" Amy smiled with her hands on her hips. “Here, let me help you get ready while the bath runs.”

"I can undress myself, Amy."

"Well, there's no need when I'm here to help my little brother."

"Eh? I'm your big brother, Amy! Stop teasing me, or I'll tell Mum!"

"Oh, Owen, you know that you’re my little brother. It doesn't matter when you were born, you are not as mature as me. Mum says so, doesn't she?"

"Well, yes..."

By the way, I meant that I admitted she does say so, not that I agreed with what she said, but Amy interrupted before I could make this key point.

"Well then, stop being silly and let me help."

I gave up and lifted my arms for her to pull off my t-shirt. She helped me off with my shorts, then pulled my boxers down to my ankles and held them while I stepped out of them, feeling like a toddler. I thought she was paying too much attention to my underwear, but I didn't expect what came next.

"Oh dear, Owen. MUM! Owen's made a wet spot in his knickers!"

"AMY! Firstly they are boxers, not knickers. And second, why are you calling Mum?"

"Because you wet your...boxers, Owen. She needs to know."

I went red with embarrassment and anger. "I did not wet them. I..uh...got a bit of pee in them. I couldn't help it, it just came out!"

"You just peed yourself, Owen?"

She wasn't even teasing, which made it worse. Amy doesn’t know what it’s like having boy parts. I try to be careful to make sure I’m dry after going to the bathroom, but sometimes you put it away and more drips of pee just suddenly come out. It’s not my fault.

I was furious with her for calling Mum because I'd already been spanked once that day. I thought I was really for it, and started having to fight back emotion as Mum came upstairs.

"What's the matter?"

"Owen got pee in his pants."

Amy held them out for Mum to see the small wet patch in the front. Fortunately, Mum just shook her head, and waved Amy to carry on. That didn't mean Amy didn't still deserve for me to be mad at her, but I sure felt relieved.

After I got in the bath, I wasn't in the mood to relax, and I wasn't going to let Amy have the satisfaction of seeing me play with that stupid duck, so I just sat there, bored. I nearly started another fight as I was itching to ask Amy why she tried to get me in trouble with Mum, but I kept my mouth shut. It's not like I don't feel bad about, you know, the pee in my underwear. I know that it’s Mum who has to wash them too but, like I said I didn't do it deliberately.

I was still stewing about the injustice of this, when Amy started washing me. It took a lot of effort to put up with the humiliation of having my kid sister washing me without complaining, but I kept quiet, put my arm up for her when she asked and so on.

Amy hummed as she soaped up the washcloth, her voice taking on that syrupy tone adults use with toddlers. "Who's my clean little bro? Yes, you are!" She scrubbed behind my ears with exaggerated care, her fingers lingering just a little too long. "All nice and fresh for me."

I rolled my eyes but stayed silent, staring at the tiles as she worked her way down my chest. The warm water and rhythmic strokes lulled me into a grudging calm. That is until she reached my waist. "Oopsie," she giggled, fingers brushing lower as she moved the cloth between my legs. "Gotta make sure your peepee is nice and clean too!"

A jolt ran through me at the contact. My face burned as I felt myself twitch against the washcloth, stiffening almost instantly under her ministrations. At first, Amy didn't react or comment on it getting hard as she lifted my penis to scrub beneath.

Then she stopped and stared at it, fascinated. She let go suddenly, watching it bob back into place.

"Hey!" I hissed, but she tapped it again, this time deliberately, tilting it to the left. We both watched, mesmerized when she let go, as it swayed like a pendulum before settling back. Amy's giggle was half-delighted, half-nervous. "It's like a..."

"Amy!"

Mum stood frozen in the doorway. For three heartbeats, no one moved.

Then Amy yanked her hand away like she'd been scalded. "I was just..."

"Out," Mum ordered, voice tighter than I'd ever heard it. She stepped aside to let Amy scurry past, then turned to me with a stern look.

My erection wilted instantly under her stare.

"Come on Owen, time to get out."

I didn't see much of either of them the rest of the evening. Mum read me a story, but she didn't make much effort with the voices and stuff, and I felt a bit cheated. When she left I wondered if she was cross with me. It wasn't my fault!

I hope she wasn't too cross with Amy either. I don't think she meant to do anything bad really. I guess we'll see if Mum’s still in a bad mood when she gets up. In the meantime I'm going to watch cartoons.

Helen's Journal

I might have overreacted when I walked in on Amy playing with Owen's penis yesterday. I know it was just curiosity, but of course, you can't let that sort of thing happen. She insisted that she hadn't been going to do anything else, so I didn't punish her beyond a lecture on boundaries and making sure we don't take advantage of Owen.

I'm not sure if she knew what I meant, so I left it where it was, rather than risk making things worse. She might be mature, but she is still young.

I've had to remind myself about not taking advantage once or twice. Owen is still growing, but he already has an nice body, and having so much access to it and...power over him. No, I shouldn’t say that, I would never take advantage of him, but he has been in my thoughts recently when I've been alone in bed at night.

Only a couple of days ago I wrote disapprovingly about some of the things Mrs Coombes told me about her regime with Jamie, yet I found myself the very next day, using nudity as a punishment for Owen. I thought he needed a strong punishment, because he had been chatting online when he knew full well he shouldn't. The Puericil makes him terribly vulnerable to creeps online. I didn't mention it to him, but some weirdos have been known to search for and target Puericil boys. They know how naive and vulnerable they are. The decision to use nudity as a punishment was a spur of the moment idea. I know it's often used by Puericil parents, but I never thought I’d use it myself until the words just fell out of my mouth!

On a less stressful note, Owen has been a delight most of the time. He keeps accidentally calling me Mummy, which I love! I'm hoping that before long he will stop worrying about it and do it deliberately. He's also taken to bringing Bumpy, his soft toy downstairs with him in the morning, while he watches TV and waits for breakfast. He sneaks it back to his bedroom once Amy or I am up, and I pretend not to notice.

Jamie will be here soon, so I'd better run and make sure the house is presentable!

OWEN’S JOURNAL

Jamie came around yesterday. When the doorbell rang I stuffed Bumpy under my blanket to hide him and went out to the hallway to see if it was Jamie at the door. Sure enough, Mum called from downstairs, "Owen! Jamie's here!"

I skipped downstairs and caught the tail end of Mum’s fussing. "Oh, Jamie, sweetheart, look at you! Those shorts are adorable! Are they new?"

Jamie stood there in tight little blue shorts and a yellow Pokémon shirt, his red hair neatly combed. He shuffled his feet, cheeks pink, but nodded. "Mummy bought them for me yesterday."

Mum ruffled his hair. "Such a good boy. Owen, don’t lurk back there, come and say hello properly."

I muttered a "hey," but Jamie perked up, grinning. "Hi Owen, wanna play FIFA?"

Upstairs, I showed him to my room and he flopped onto my bed. "Your mummy seems nice," he said, picking at the hem of his shorts.

"Yes, she is OK."

Jamie shrugged. "I'm sure she's nicer than OK? She's pretty too,"

"Ew! I can't say I've noticed. You're weird, Jamie!"

"Maybe." he replied, before grabbing a controller, eyes lighting up. "Bet I can still destroy you at FIFA."

"Ah! You do have some spirit! And you're wrong, of course!"

Since my screen is at the end of my bed, I let him sit in my bed next to me to play. For the next hour, it almost felt back to normal, yelling at pixels, shoving each other’s shoulders. At some point, Mum knocked the door and came in with a plate of cookies. "Boys! Snack time!"

Jamie instantly sat up straight, hands in his lap. "Thank you, Mrs. Hicks."

Mum beamed. "Such lovely manners! Owen, take notes."

"I have manners!" I pointed out as she set the plate between us, and Jamie waited (!) for me to take the first one.

"Oh, I know, sweetheart," Mum said, ruffling my hair like I was five. She left with that soft hum she does when she’s pleased, and the moment the door clicked, Jamie shoved half the cookies into his mouth at the same time.

"Oi, slow down," I muttered, but he just grinned, dropping crumbs in my bed!

"So," I said after a beat, picking at my own cookie. "How long have you been on Puericil?"

"I can't remember exactly but it's been over six months. I know that because it was before my birthday." He shrugged like it was nothing, licking chocolate off his thumb. "Mummy started me when I got suspended for punching Ryan Carter."

"What?" I nearly choked. Jamie? Punching someone? The kid who flinched at his own shadow? "You punched someone?" I laughed. "Sorry, I didn't expect you to say that, I thought it was because you only got 98% on a test or something," I dissolved into giggles. Fortunately Jamie seemed to have a sense of humour.

"Oh no, that would have been far worse! I'd probably be buried in the garden!"

"I don't think I've ever got more than 60% in anything. Anyway, I'm sorry, tell me about your fight!"

"Well, yeah," he said, suddenly fascinated by the carpet. "He kept saying...stuff. About my dad dying." His voice dipped, then bounced back. "But it’s way better now! I'm home schooled. And since Puericil, there's no more anger, no more frustration, no more wet dreams…" He clapped a hand over his mouth. "Oh. Forget I said that."

I stared. "Does it...stop all that?"

"Uh-huh." He nodded vigorously. "It takes a few weeks though. At first, I’d wake up sticky and freak out." He broke off, cheeks flushing. "Mummy had to clean it up. Super embarrassing."

"I've never had one of those..."

Suddenly, the door creaked open and Mum arrived with two juice cartons. Straws already punched in.

"Thought you might be thirsty," she said, handing them over. Jamie beamed. "Thank you, Mrs. Hicks!"

I took mine silently, staring at the cartoon oranges printed on the side. When I looked up, Mum was watching me with that knowing smile. Like she’d already heard every word.

"And don't tell fibs to your friend to show off, Owen, that's naughty! Jamie, don't worry, I have had to clean up after Owen more than once! It's good to know all that will stop soon!"

I felt a bit of panic at that and mixed feelings. I hadn't been lying of course, not to Jamie at least. I really hadn't had a wet dream, but only because I couldn't keep my hands off myself long enough, and I had lied to mum about that. I made a mental note to try to not do it so much from now on, which felt like a safer way to be good than admitting what I'd done. And what about what Jamie was saying about not getting them anymore? That would solve the problem alright, but was that a good thing or a bad thing? I wished I could talk to Mum about it but I was too embarrassed.

"Well," Jamie continued as Mum retreated, oblivious to my internal crisis, "after a while, everything just...stops. No more random boners either. You don't notice at first, but one day you just realise it doesn't happen anymore."

I shifted uncomfortably. "And that’s...good?"

Jamie shrugged. "Mummy says it is. She says I’m calmer now."

I whispered as low as I could while still giving Jamie a chance of hearing me. “Do you not get stiffies at all now?”

“I can do, but only when it’s touched enough. And I don’t do that.”

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "What about...spankings?" The word came out in a whisper.

Jamie's eyes lit up like I’d asked about his favourite video game. "Oh yeah! I get them loads. Not everyday, but sometimes as often as four times a week or so." He swung his legs cheerfully. "Mummy says I’m ‘high-spirited.’"

My jaw dropped. "But...don’t you hate it?"

"I used to." He picked at a thread on his shorts. "Now I kinda like the cuddles after. And..." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Sometimes I act up on purpose."

I recoiled. This kid was special. "Why would you do that?"

"Because!" Jamie giggled, kicking his heels against the bedframe. "Afterwards, she makes a big fuss of me! She lets me suck my thumb, hugs me…and I get cocoa. And sometimes ice cream!" As if that explained everything. What would he do for a donut?

By the way I almost teased him about the thumb comment. But I quickly realised that I like him, so why would I say something mean to him? Maybe that's Puericil working...before I was taking it, would I have just blurted out some mean comment, and then felt bad about it? Instead, I hesitated before admitting, "Mum spanked me bare last week. She made me stay naked for ages after as an extra punishment."

Jamie blinked. "As punishment? That’s weird." He flopped onto his back, hiking up his shorts to scratch his inner thigh. "I’m bare most days unless we go out. Mummy says clothes are optional for little boys. That we shouldn’t be embarrassed about out bodies. As long as it's not too cold, I don't always bother."

I blushed imagining my Mum decreeing that. Jamie just grinned and reached for another cookie, completely at ease, like discussing nudity and discipline was as normal as talking about football. Probably more so for him! He was cool though. I mean, not cool, but nice. I guess I wasn't cool either.

“By the way, I’m sorry to hear about your Dad. Those boys were really mean to tease you about that” I said.

“Thanks. And yes they were! I’m glad I don’t have to see them again.” He replied.

Speaking of football, I need to ask Mum to let me check my WhatsApp. I'm supposed to have football practise starting again next week. I need to see if coach has sent any messages.

Anyway I had fun with Jamie, he's OK really.

He stayed for tea and then we walked him home as it was only fifteen minutes away and Mum fancied a walk. There's only really one main road to cross on the way, and when we got to it Jamie put his hand out for Mum to hold! I couldn't believe that, and Mum seemed surprised too, but she took it and told me to hold Amy's hand.

I didn't mind helping so I did, but then Mum said "make sure you hold his hand tightly and keep him safe while we cross the road, Amy!" I was so embarrassed! I know Puericil changes you a bit, but it doesn't make you stupid! I know how to cross a road safely. But the same thing happened on the way back! The first time I was so caught out by it, I said nothing, but this time I was ready! I waited until we'd taken a few paces into the road and snatched my hand out of Amy's! She shouted "Hey!" and tried to grab it back, so I ran ahead out of her grasp. Unfortunately as I ran ahead, I turned around to see the look on her face, and I accidentally ran a little too far and stepped off the curb on the midway point into the other lane. I would have stopped anyway, but a passing car must have thought I was going to keep running and beeped at me.

It gave me a bit of a fright, but Mum almost had a heart attack! She was so mad with me afterwards, she grabbed my hand hard and said that I was in trouble when we got home. I was so scared I started to cry. Amy said sorry to Mum for letting go of my hand, and Mum told her to be more careful next time, but that it wasn't her fault I had been a naughty boy.

When we got home, well, you can probably guess I got a spanking. I suppose I deserved it. What annoyed me though, was Amy got to do it! She's younger than me, and I don't see why she should be allowed to punish me! She didn't even it properly. I mean, it hurt, but she thought it was funny or something and spankings are supposed to be serious!

It's a shame a good day ended so badly. I did have a cuddle with Mum and Amy later, but I didn't get a story. Oh, and Mum won't let me check my WhatsApp either, because I've been bad. I'm not willing to risk missing training, so one way or the other I'm going to check it today.

HELEN’S JOURNAL

Jamie visited us yesterday and he is such a lovely boy, and Owen had such a wonderful time with him that I should be writing all about that. Instead I’m having to journal about another punishment for Owen. I need to check with Dr Lewis when I see her if it is normal for Puericil boys to be as naughty as Owen is. He seems to take two steps forward and one step back.

I had Amy take his hand as we crossed the busy road a few blocks away as I thought it was good for her to start getting used to looking after him outside. Just in case she has to take him somewhere for me one day. Unfortunately, Owen decided to deliberately pull away from her and very nearly got run over. My heart was in my mouth, as I thought for a brief moment I might lose my little boy. And then, it occurred to me that if the worse had happened, poor Amy might have blamed herself!

Well, to say I was furious with Owen would be the understatement of the year! I told him there and then that he had a punishment coming, but I knew I’d have to calm down first. When we got home I sent him to his room and had a coffee to relax. It was only fair to Owen for me to calm down first, but it was also unfair to keep him waiting too long. When I called him down twenty minutes later he was crying again. I had Amy come in too, because she was very involved in what had happened.

First things first, I sat him on my lap and told him to take deep breaths and calm himself down. Once he’d settled a little, I started my lecture. "Do you understand how dangerous what you did was?"

"I didn’t…"

"No, Owen. That car beeped at you. Do you know why cars beep?" His lower lip wobbled. "Because they don’t want to hit people."

"But I wasn’t…"

"Stop interrupting. You pulled away from Amy deliberately. That’s naughty enough, but then you ran further into the road. You didn’t look. You could have been hurt. Or worse." My voice cracked on the last word, and Owen’s eyes went wide.

"It’s not fair," he mumbled, wiping his tears with his knuckle. "Amy’s younger than me."

I cupped his chin. "But who’s more mature? Who listened when I said hold hands? Who didn’t run off like a toddler?" Owen’s cheeks flushed. "Amy was trying to keep you safe, and you frightened her. And me!"

"I’m sorry," he whispered, genuine this time. He turned to Amy. "Sorry I scared you."

Amy, bless her, nodded solemnly. "It’s okay. Just don’t do it again."

I hugged them both then, Owen clinging tighter than usual. "You’ll be more careful?" I asked into his hair.

"Yes, Mummy."

"Good boy." I kissed his forehead. "Now, about your punishment..."

Owen tensed but didn’t argue. I began my big announcement.

"I'm sure you will agree that you have earned a bare bottom spanking. No don't look at me like that, if you don't want your botty smacked then you need to be a good boy, not a silly, naughty one. And I think given what happened today, you need a reminder that when Amy is in charge, you must listen and obey her. So today, Amy will be the one to smack your bottom."

"Whaaat? Mummmmy! Amy is not old enough to spank me! That's not fair! It's your job..."

"I have lots of jobs, Owen, and sometimes Amy has to help me with them, because I can't expect a helpless little boy like you to even be safe on his own let alone help."

"But that's not fair! I'm 13! And I can help!"

"Owen, you can't even do a wee wee in the toilet without help."

It was cruel, and his lip wobbled, but it was important to get the point across. I really had visions of having to get in an ambulance with him today, as we crossed that street. I don't want anything like it to happen again. If it did, it would be my fault. So I pressed on;

"And you need to stop this silliness about Amy being younger than you. She is far more mature. Girls mature much faster than boys. Look at Jamie. Can you imagine Jamie telling Amy what to do?"

"No." Owen actually smiled at the thought between sniffles. “Course not.”

"Well, you are the same age, and maturity as Jamie. It's nothing to be ashamed off, being looked after by your sister. But being naughty is!"

Owen sniffed, but nodded, hopefully having taken my point. I helped him stand and pointed to the corner. "Shorts and underwear off, hands on head." His eyes widened in horror. "Mum, not in front of Amy..."

"How can she spank your bare bottom with your shorts on?" I said firmly. "Amy has seen all of you before. Off, now!"

With trembling fingers, Owen pushed his shorts and underwear to his ankles and kicked them off. He stood looking half his age in just his t-shirt and socks.

"Come here, Amy." I guided her to the chair I used for most of Owen's spankings, and had her sit while I pushed Owen over her lap (gently of course). "Flat palm and don't pull your swings."

The first smack was feather-light. "Harder," I urged. The second landed with a faint pat. Owen barely flinched. "Amy!" I chided. "You're not dusting a shelf!"

She looked at me for reassurance, I nodded and she swung properly the third time. Crack! Owen yelped, but Amy burst into giggles. "His butt jiggles!" she squealed. Another spank, another yelp from Owen, and another burst of giggling from Amy.

"Stop laughing!" Owen twisted to look back at her, furious. "Mum, she's…"

"I know." I caught Amy's wrist. "Sweetheart, this isn't playtime. If you're in charge, you must act like it. If you are not firm and strict, Owen will think you are making fun of him, not helping him. " To demonstrate, I sat and hauled Owen across my own lap, delivering ten sharp spanks in quick succession alternating between cheeks—left, right, left—each crack echoing as he kicked and sobbed. As I did so, I spoke sharply to him;

"Owen, you are having your bottom smacked because you have been a very bad boy! I hope it will help you learn to be a good boy."

I directed him to stand and stood up myself.

"That is how you correct naughty boys," I told Amy, as Owen danced about rubbing his bottom. "Firm. Fair. No giggles. Have another go, darling."

Amy nodded, face set with new determination as Owen sniffled back onto her lap. His cheeks were already glowing pink, bare legs kicking slightly before she pressed a palm firmly against the small of his back, just like she'd seen me do.

"Owen, be still like a good little boy," she ordered, voice wobbling only slightly. "Or I shall just have to spank your bare bottom harder."

The next spank landed with a sharp smack. There was no laughter this time. Owen gasped, toes curling against the carpet. Amy adjusted her grip, frowning in concentration as she delivered six more brisk smacks, alternating sides. His breathing hitched with each one, but he didn't squirm nearly as much, whether from obedience or shock, I couldn't tell.

"You're doing wonderfully," I said, smoothing Amy's hair. She beamed up at me before remembering her role and schooling her features back into sternness. She continued to spank Owen briskly for a couple of minutes, even aiming a few at the backs of his thighs.

"Now say sorry properly," she demanded, mimicking my usual post-spanking script. Owen mumbled something into his sleeve. Amy poked his hip. "Properly."

"I'm sorry for running!" he burst out, "and…and for pulling away!"

Amy glanced at me for approval. I nodded. "Good boy," she said primly, rubbing his red backside in an unconscious imitation of my own comforting habit. "You can get up now."

Owen scrambled upright, frantically rubbing his sore bottom. The expression on his face and the way he danced about told me this lesson would stick.

"Hands down," I reminded him gently. He jerked them away from his backside obediently. "Come here." I opened my arms, and after a heartbeat's hesitation, he stumbled into them, climbing onto my lap facing me and burying his face in my shoulder. Hot tears soaked through my blouse as I rocked him. "You're all right," I murmured, kissing his temple. "My good boy just needed reminding to listen to his Mummy and big sister that's all."

Amy hovered close by looking unsure what to do. I tugged her close with my free arm, sandwiching Owen between us. "Teamwork," I whispered against his hair. His shuddering sigh told me he'd understood. This wasn't her triumph or his humiliation, even if it had felt like it at the time. It was just a family sticking together. I noticed that I could feel his erection pressing against my tummy. We both ignored it. It's happening more and more often though. Another thing to remember at Owen's check up.

Owen’s Journal

I was pretty sure that I was going to check my phone for messages from my football team when Mum wasn't around because I knew training must be due to start again soon and I didn't want to miss it. Unfortunately Mum likes to check all my messages first these days.

You are probably thinking, "here we go again, Owen is going to get another spanking!" Well, that's you fooled, because in the end I thought the same thing, then thought better of it. I was in too much trouble over running across the road just the other day, so I didn't want to make things worse. Yes, I chickened out, I suppose. But no spanking for me, so sucks to be you!

Instead, I asked Mum nicely, and she did say yes, although, as expected she did insist on reading my messages first. I only wanted to check my football team's chat but Mum checked all my new messages anyway. She said there was something inappropriate in my school friends chat and deleted it before I could see it. She said if it happened again I would have to leave that chat.

I told her it wasn't my fault someone else posted something and she might as well delete it now. She thought I was sassing and got a bit cross but I meant it. I can't chat to my old friends freely so I may as well not chat to them at all. They are not stupid, they will soon work out that they are really talking to my Mum! Or at least what she lets me say. There is no point.

Anyway, finally I was able to view my team chat, and sure enough training was on today (it was tomorrow when I checked but that was yesterday, so now it is tomorrow, today).

I mentioned it to Mum at breakfast, and she sighed and said "Owen, I don’t think football is appropriate for you anymore."

My spoon froze halfway to my mouth. "What?"

She wiped my chin with her thumb. "The other boys will be getting bigger and stronger. You’re going to… stay as you are for a while. They might play too rough for you." Her fingers brushed arm. "I don’t want you getting hurt."

"But I’ve played since I was six!" My voice cracked. "Coach says I’m a senior player on the team now!"

Mum’s lips pressed into that thin line that meant no arguing. "Rugby would be worse, but football’s still too rough. Maybe swimming? Or tennis?"

The porridge turned to glue in my throat. "That’s for babies," I mumbled.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course it isn’t!”

Amy piped up around her toast. "Jamie does ballet."

My face burned. "Oh, well, somehow I'm not surprised, but forget it! That's for girls!"

"Owen!" Mum’s rap of the table made me jump. "Apologize. Now."

I stared at my bowl, fists clenched under the table. "Sorry." The word tasted like soap.

Mum sighed again, softer. "We’ll find something gentler. It’s for your...."

"No it’s not!" The chair screeched as I stood. "You just want me to be a baby forever!" Tears were suddenly filling my eyes. "You’re horrible!"

For a second, I thought she’d smack me right there. But then her shoulders slumped. "Oh, Owen…" She reached for me, but I twisted away.

"Fine." She sighed quietly, "You can go."

I sniffed, wary. "Really?"

She caught my wrist, pulling me into a hug I didn’t resist. "But if I see one bruise, one scrape..." Her fingers tightened. "No more chances. Understood?"

I nodded against her shoulder, relief and shame tangling in my chest.

"Good boy." She kissed my forehead. "Now finish your breakfast."

I sat back down, avoiding Amy’s curious stare. The victory felt hollow since I'd cried in front of everyone, but at least I’d won something. And later that day I agreed to go to Jamie's for a sleepover next week, so lot's to look forward to now!

By the way, I think I already told you that I've been trying not to play with my self recently, since I felt bad about almost getting caught. Unfortunately, it just seems to get hard more and more, and last night I couldn't go to sleep because it wouldn't go away. So I had to give in and take care of it. I was fun. I got all hot and tingly, and afterwards it felt like being in a warm bath and I felt ready to sleep. I forgot to use a tissue again though. Since I'm using the wet dream excuse, I figured I'd leave it for Mum to deal with again, although it was squidgy and gross when I accidentally rolled over and my butt went right in it!

Now that I've given in and done it again, I'm not sure whether to go back to holding off, or whether to just do it whenever I like again. I feel bad about lying to Mum about the wet dreams though. I can't decide whether to own up or keep it to myself. It's probably too embarrassing talk about, but I wish I could because it's really confusing. She says I can talk to her about anything, but of course she doesn't mean that sort of thing.

But I don't want to finish on a downer, I had a nice afternoon practising football in the garden ready for tomorrow, watched some cartoons and ate pizza I didn't get punished for anything, and tomorrow I'm going to training! Life is sweet, for once.

OWEN'S JOURNAL

I haven't written for a couple of days, and I don't really want to talk about what happened, because two of the worst things that ever happened to me happened in the last two days in a row! Mum says I'll feel better by writing my Journal. She says it always helps her. I'm not sure what's going to be fun about telling you this, or how it will help. After all, you never talk back or give me any advice! But I said I would, so here goes.

So the day after I last wrote was OK at first. Apart from having to let mum find the you-know-what. At least it was just a dried out stain on my sheets this time, but I had to have an early bath as a result, and since mum was doing extra laundry, Amy bathed me again.

I didn't let it bother me. Mum said not to worry and although having Amy wash me is embarrassing (especially when she does stuff like pull my butt cheeks open to see if I'm clean enough!) I was too excited about training to worry about it.

When we got to training, I was a little nervous at seeing some of the boys. I hadn't seen them since school broke up for summer. But it went OK. Mum and Amy came to watch by the way. I didn't mind that so much, parents often watch. Mostly It's the Dads, but mine doesn't bother, so I was happy for Mum and Amy to be there.

The first half was OK. We did skills practise and drills. I'm pretty good at that, I'd say one of the best on the team. For the second half we had a mini game, which normally is the best part.

I think I got a couple of early touches in, then someone passed to me and I took the ball up my wing like I usually would. I was looking for a target when another boy clattered into me with a sliding tackle. It was a foul, and a bit dumb to do to your own team mate in training, but I've taken many tackles like that before. But for some reason, this one wiped me out in more ways than one. I slammed face first into the ground as my legs were taken out from under me, and lost all my breath. For a few seconds I felt like I couldn't remember how to breathe in, which was scary. And then I started crying.

It was the most embarrassing moment of my life, but I couldn't stop. Mum and Amy rushed over to see if I was alright.

I saw Amy's face first. She knelt down beside me, patting my shoulder awkwardly. "It's OK, Owen," she whispered, sounding weirdly grown-up. "You're safe, we've got you."

For a moment I did feel safer, until I remembered where I was and that there were about 20 other boys standing around gawping at me, some sniggering.

Mum checked me over with gentle fingers, looking very worried. When she realized I wasn’t seriously hurt, her expression shifted to something softer. "Oh, sweetheart," she said, brushing grass from my hair. "You see now, don’t you? Football’s too rough for you these days."

That’s when something inside me snapped. "What's wrong with me?" I choked out, my voice raw. "What have you done to me?"

Mum sighed, gathering me into her arms despite the mud and sweat. "I haven’t done anything to you, darling. The medicine is just helping your feelings catch up with your body." She pressed a kiss to my temple. "You’re still the same Owen. Just… gentler."

Amy piped up, "You could try ballet with Jamie!"

She wasn't teasing, she was trying to help, but it was a terrible idea.

"Fuck off!" I snarled, shoving away from Mum. Immediately, a fresh wave of tears erupted, but this time because I was so shocked with myself for what I'd done.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!" I curled up into a ball. I wasn't scared of being punished, I was sad that I'd been mean to Amy and Mummy when they were only trying to help me. I think Mummy knew as well, because she wasn't mad like you would think.

"If he's OK, would you mind getting him off the pitch, love? We've only got ten minutes left now." My coach interrupted our family crisis.

Mum stood up faster than I’ve ever seen her move before and rounded on him with a glare that made half the team take a step back. "Mind your own business!" she snapped. Her voice didn't rise, but it carried like a slap. "My son is hurt, and you're worried about your game?" The coach blinked, startled, as Mum turned her back on him without waiting for a reply.

"Come on, Owen." Her tone softened as she slipped an arm around my waist, hauling me upright with surprising strength. I wobbled and let her steer me towards the car park. Amy trotted ahead, carrying my bag and water bottle.

The walk felt endless. Every step sent fresh humiliation burning up my neck. I could hear whispers; "Did Hicks just cry over a tackle?" and the occasional laugh. Mum's grip tightened. "Ignore them," she muttered. "Little boys who laugh at other people being hurt are immature and not worth worrying about."

The car door was swung open and Mum bundled me into the backseat, kneeling beside me to wipe my face with a tissue from her pocket. "Breathe," she ordered, pressing the tissue to my nose. I blew obediently, too drained to protest the infantilizing gesture. Amy hovered by the door, chewing her lip.

"Am I..." My voice came out hoarse. "Am I really too weak for football now?"

Mum cupped my chin, her thumb smearing away a tear. "No, darling, you are better at football than any of those boys. But they play too rough for you, like I warned you. I'd rather you didn't play at all, but I'll see if there are any teams for boys like you that you could join instead”.

Boys like me!

Mum sighed and pulled me into a hug, my face squashed against her shoulder. Over her arm, I saw Amy quietly close the car door, cutting off the outside world. For now, at least, it was just us three and the awful truth that I finally had to admit to myself. I wasn't the boy I'd been eight weeks ago.

Anyway - I mentioned that two awful things had happened, so I'd better tell you about the other one. The rest of that evening, Mum and Amy both made a fuss of me and I started to relax a little, though I felt very bad about pushing Mum and swearing at Amy. So much so that I felt like I needed a spanking. At one point Mum asked me if there was anything I wanted to ask her, as though she knew, but I chickened out of it. I was worried she'd think I was weird, or laugh or something.

Well, I managed to relax and watch a movie with my family, before Amy helped me get ready for bed at 8, then Mummy read to me at 9. You might have noticed that I was late getting ready for bed because of the film, but I still had to go to sleep at the same time. And yes, it is embarrassing when Amy helps me get ready. I can take my own clothes off, but Mum insists on helping me, so I have to put my arms up to let her pull my t-shirt off, or put my legs into my pyjamas as she holds them, then pulls them up for me. Amy doing it is even more embarrassing because she is younger than me, but for once I didn't moan as I'd been mean to her earlier in the day, so really, it was pretty nice of her to still want to help me.

I went to sleep thinking over the horrible things that happened at football practise, and I had a pretty lousy, broken sleep. When I woke up, it took me a few moments to work out what was going on.

I woke to cold dampness clinging to my thighs, the sheets plastered to my skin. At first, I thought I’d sweated through a nightmare, until the sharp scent hit me. My stomach lurched. No. no, no, no! I shot upright, peeling the soaked fabric away with trembling fingers. The darkened room spun. This wasn’t possible. I hadn’t wet the bed since...well, since never. I can't remember ever doing it since I was out of nappies. My breath came in shallow bursts as I looked at the wet patch, as if I could will it away. I tried to think of a way to hide it, or some clever excuse like my wet dream idea, but It was hopeless. I must have pee'd like a horse!

Footsteps in the hall froze me mid-panic. The door creaked open, and Mum’s silhouette filled the doorway. Light from the hall cut across the bed, glinting off the dampness. Her sharp inhale made my throat close up. "Oh, Owen," she exclaimed.

Tears spilled over before I could stop them. "I didn’t mean to," I choked out, looking and feeling like she'd caught me standing over a dead body with a knife in my hand.

"I know, sweetheart." She crossed the room in three strides, gathering me up despite the mess. Her hands smoothed my damp hair back from my forehead. "It’s alright. These things happen."

The words shattered me. These things didn’t happen, not to me. But my body had betrayed me, just like on the football pitch. Mum led me to the bathroom, my pyjamas clinging to me uncomfortably. She peeled them off, with business-like efficiency. "Amy?" she called over her shoulder. "Come help, please."

Amy appeared in the doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes. When she took in the scene, her eyebrows shot up. "Did Owen..."

"Yes," Mum interrupted, tossing my wet clothes into the tub. "Be kind."

Amy grabbed a washcloth from the rack and ran it under warm water. The steam curled up between us as I stood there naked, wringing my hands in front of my privates.

"Turn around," she ordered quietly.

I hesitated, then complied, pressing my palms flat against the cold tiles. The cloth hit the back of my thighs first. She scrubbed in efficient circles, working upward. When she reached my buttocks, she spread them without ceremony, the cloth swiping between in clinical strokes. I flinched, but her grip tightened on my hip.

"Almost done," she whispered, sounding disturbingly like Mum. The cloth slithered around front next, skimming my limp peepee before wedging between my legs to scrub my scrotum.

"Aren't you lucky to have a big sister to look after you?"

"But you're not my big sister, you're..."

"Owen, please! Shhh. I don't want to embarrass you further."

My ears tingled as I knew what she would have said next, if she wasn't trying to be nice.

Mum handed Amy a folded towel and my sister shook it open with a flourish. "Arms up," she commanded. The towel enveloped me, Amy's hands briskly patting down my torso, my legs, and of course, between my legs, though she was very gentle there, as always.

"There." Amy dusted her hands off, grinning. "All clean."

Once I was clean and dry and dressed, and there wasn't anything immediate to deal with, I just felt even more embarrassed at what had happened. I put my shoes and coat on (which I am still perfectly capable of putting on by myself, I might add) and opened the front door, and was pretty much 95% ready to run away. The 5% that stopped me was realising that I hadn't the first clue where to go or what to do, and didn't really fancy having to ask bums and druggies for help on the streets, so I came back in, feeling like a loser for not even being brave enough to go through with it.

I wrote a letter to Boy Stuff magazine instead. Probably made me feel a little better to be doing something. It's a magazine I've read on and off for a while. It has an agony aunt type column which boys can write to and which usually made me a bit sick in my mouth in the past, but suddenly it felt like someone I could turn to. Boys write in from all over the world and they seem to know a lot about Puericil, so we'll see if they publish my letter.

I want to know if what happened this morning was because of the Puericil, and if so I want something done about it, like a smaller dose. I also asked if it was OK to be wanking now and again because it's stressing me out for some reason. No one ever told me not to, but on Puericil I seem to feel bad afterwards, and if I don't I just get stiffies all the time.

Mind, I wish I hadn't mentioned that part now. I kind of hope the print my letter but not that part. It's a bit cringe. Oh, yeah, I also complained about Amy being allowed to help me too much, especially she should not be spanking me when I'm older. That's not fair. It's one thing Mum letting her spank me the other day, but since then Amy now thinks she can threaten me with a spanking if I don't do what she asks!

It's not fair on her to have to spend to much time helping me either (I think Mum might go for that one?) It wasn't so long ago I was helping Mum with stuff and now they won't even let me put my pyjamas on myself. Then again, I did just wet the bed! This has all got to stop!

As often happens after a particularly horrible thing, Mum seemed to go out of her way to make a nice fuss of me for the rest of the day, and I don't mind admitting that I love it when she does that. Even Amy, who seems to always be trying to be a "mini mum" takes her lead and fusses over me. Sometimes it's irritating when Amy does it. When Mum does it, it makes me feel loved and safe, like it did when I was little. When Amy does it, it can feel patronizing. But don't worry, I don't believe she means it that way, so I try to appear grateful and not roll my eyes at her that much.

So, as I was saying, it was an OK afternoon and evening. At bedtime though, Mum dropped a bombshell.

"I think," she said casually, like she was suggesting I try a new cereal, "that you might need some pull-ups at night for a while. Just in case."

I nearly choked on my bedtime milk (yes, I get milk at bedtime now—shut up). "No way!" My voice cracked so high Amy giggled behind her hand. "That was a one-time thing! I am not wearing a bloody nappy!"

"Language!", Mum sighed, rubbing her temple. "Owen, we both know the Puericil can cause temporary..."

"I don't care!" I kicked the foot-board for emphasis, instantly regretting it when pain shot up my shin. "I am not wearing pull ups like a baby!"

"Fine." She held up her hands. "But you're staying at Jamie's tomorrow, and I won't have you wetting their guest bed. You'll have to wear one there, or you're not going."

My stomach dropped. Jamie's house? That was ten times worse! At least here it'd just be Mum and Amy seeing. But Jamie and his Mum? I opened my mouth to argue, but Mum's expression shut me down with that tight-lipped, tired-parent look that meant the discussion was over.

"I hate this," I muttered, flopping back onto my pillows.

Mum smoothed my hair. It felt irritatingly comforting as I was trying hard to show how cross I was. "I know, sweetie." Her thumb brushed my forehead. "But it's just for sleeping. Mrs Coombes understands what you are going through. No one else need ever know."

Yeah, right. Like Jamie wouldn't notice when I changed for bed. My face burned imagining it…his raised eyebrows, the awkward silence as I tried to explain why I suddenly needed what was basically a nappy.

Mum kissed my forehead and turned out the light. "Think about it tomorrow," she whispered. "Goodnight, my sweet boy."

I scowled into the dark and rolled over, crushing Bumpy against my chest.

HELEN'S JOURNAL

After dropping Owen off at his friend's house, I took Amy shopping and we had lunch. It was nice to spend some time together. Mrs Coombes gave me a book to read about raising boys on Puericil. I thought it looked worth a try and hoped to retire early with a hot chocolate and take a look at it, but Amy reminded me very forcefully that I had promised her a girl's night and a movie. So it was quite late and I was quite tired by the time I got into bed, but still, I had a flick though the book to see what it was like.

It was very interesting, so I'll share some of the highlights. It is called "A Firm Hand - Parenting Boys with Puericil" There is a chapter about the regression of Puericil boys, both medically induced by the drug and in the way they should be treated.

"Therapeutic infantilization should be conducted with consistency and compassion. Boys on Puericil experience hormonal shifts that create a paradoxical state. Their cognitive abilities remain intact while their emotional responses regress to prepubescent levels. Structured routines (bedtimes, supervised hygiene, controlled diets) provide the security their developing psyche craves but cannot articulate."

I had already noticed this, as Owen seems to calm down now when I tell him exactly what to do and when, even though he complains. Admittedly, we've had a few wobbles lately, which is why I really want to know how to help him better.

Chapter Five is about about discipline at home;

"Physical correction remains the most effective behavioral reinforcement for regressed boys, as reasoning often fails to penetrate their heightened emotional state. Spankings should be administered promptly, firmly, and over the bare buttocks to ensure proper connection between action and consequence. Positioning is critical—placing the boy across the lap reinforces the parent-child dynamic and helps prevent injury."

This was interesting, as I had already noticed that Owen responds much better when given an old-fashioned smacked bottom than when I tried to punish him in other ways. Also it seems more effective to spank him as soon as possible following his misdeed, otherwise he doesn’t associate the deed and the punishment as closely.

Another chapter offered advice on the roles of siblings;

"Older sisters often instinctively assume quasi-parental roles with Puericil treated brothers. This dynamic should be carefully cultivated. Not only does it ease the burden of maternal duties, but it reinforces the boy’s accepted position within the family hierarchy. Sisters should be entrusted with minor disciplinary measures (reporting misbehavior, administering bare bottom spankings etc) to bolster their authority. Since girls mature much faster than boys, even younger sisters may be safely entrusted with a share of your boy's care and discipline."

This was controversial, but I had already noticed that Amy reacts very well to being given responsibility for Owen, and Owen responds surprisingly well to her. He is more likely to complain and try to play up when Amy is involved, but with a bit of guidance, she has learned to handle him well, and soon assumes control. It seems to have brought them closer together. The other day I caught Owen resting his head on Amy's lap on the sofa as she watched his cartoons with him, which I thought was sweet of her.

Chapter nine was quite topical for me, as it concerned bed wetting and night time care.

"Transient incontinence is common during early Puericil treatment as the body adjusts, with nocturnal enuresis a common side effect, though it is normally temporary. Protective bed sheets are recommended and night time garments should be introduced matter-of-factly and without fuss to minimise embarrassment. While embarrassment can be a useful discipline tool for boys, in this case, the bed wetting is out of your boy's control, is likely to cause distress in itself and therefore, should not be punished."

Well, I wish I'd read this before Owen's accident. Not that I punished him, of course, but I wish I had been better prepared for it happening.

Chapter eleven concerned emotional regulation;

"Puericil boys frequently struggle with emotional outbursts disproportionate to their actual distress. Holding the boy tightly during these episodes (the 'containment hug') often short-circuits escalating tantrums by providing deep-pressure reassurance."

This was interesting, but I haven't tested it yet. I do like to hold Owen tightly to comfort him after a spanking, however.

I was intrigued by some of the other chapter titles, but my eyes were starting to close, so I turned off the light and went to sleep.

Honestly, I'm not sure I agree with everything in this book, but it's given me a lot to think about.

(End of File)