The Long Weekend at Wren Farm | Pt.3
At the services she got out and went to the Boots and bought a ten-pack of the taped ones and wipes and cream, and the girl on the till didn't say anything at all, and Sadie stood there and thought about how on Friday she'd have wanted the floor to open.
She came back to the car and put the bag in the boot and got in the back, and Bex said, "Everything you needed?" and Sadie said, "Yeah," and Bex pulled out of the car park.
Eighteen — Sunday night
Cal texted at nine.
"How's it going."
"Fine. In one. Sitting on the sofa like a person."
"Good." Then, a moment later: "How bad?"
Sadie looked at her phone and her face went hot and she typed: "Five."
"Hold it."
She held it. She held it for eleven minutes with her knees crossed and her heel up on the sofa and the crinkle every time she moved, and then she typed: "Eight. Please."
"Go on then. Where are you?"
"On the sofa."
"Sitting?"
"Yeah."
"Go sitting."
She put the phone down on the cushion beside her and let go, and the heat flooded into the front of it and spread and she leaned her head back against the sofa and rode it out with her hand flat on her stomach, and the wet swelled and went heavy and warm and hung between her legs, and when it was done she sat in it for a minute before she picked the phone back up.
"Done?" he'd already sent.
"Yeah."
"All of it?"
"Yeah."
"Good girl. Sit in it a bit."
She sat in it for forty minutes with the warmth cooling slowly under her and the television on and nobody in the world knowing, and then she texted him again.
"Can I change?"
"Say it properly."
She bit her lip and typed: "Please can I be changed out of my wet nappy."
The three dots went for a while.
"Yes," he said. "Go on. And Sadie — there's a jar of dares in the hall. Bring it next weekend."
She got up and went to the bathroom and lay a towel on the floor and got the wipes and lay down on it with her knees up, and she peeled the tapes of her own wet diaper in her own flat, alone, and cleaned herself up, and got a fresh one out of the packet and slid it under her.
She did the bottom tapes first. Then the top ones, flat on her back, where the fit was right.
Then she pressed the front flat with the flat of her hand and lay there for a second in the crisp dry thickness of it, on her own bathroom floor, with her knees up and her heart going, and she thought about Friday, and the car, and the field gate, and the countdown from ten, and she thought: five days.
She had never in her life been so glad of a Monday.
She came back to the car and put the bag in the boot and got in the back, and Bex said, "Everything you needed?" and Sadie said, "Yeah," and Bex pulled out of the car park.
Eighteen — Sunday night
Cal texted at nine.
"How's it going."
"Fine. In one. Sitting on the sofa like a person."
"Good." Then, a moment later: "How bad?"
Sadie looked at her phone and her face went hot and she typed: "Five."
"Hold it."
She held it. She held it for eleven minutes with her knees crossed and her heel up on the sofa and the crinkle every time she moved, and then she typed: "Eight. Please."
"Go on then. Where are you?"
"On the sofa."
"Sitting?"
"Yeah."
"Go sitting."
She put the phone down on the cushion beside her and let go, and the heat flooded into the front of it and spread and she leaned her head back against the sofa and rode it out with her hand flat on her stomach, and the wet swelled and went heavy and warm and hung between her legs, and when it was done she sat in it for a minute before she picked the phone back up.
"Done?" he'd already sent.
"Yeah."
"All of it?"
"Yeah."
"Good girl. Sit in it a bit."
She sat in it for forty minutes with the warmth cooling slowly under her and the television on and nobody in the world knowing, and then she texted him again.
"Can I change?"
"Say it properly."
She bit her lip and typed: "Please can I be changed out of my wet nappy."
The three dots went for a while.
"Yes," he said. "Go on. And Sadie — there's a jar of dares in the hall. Bring it next weekend."
She got up and went to the bathroom and lay a towel on the floor and got the wipes and lay down on it with her knees up, and she peeled the tapes of her own wet diaper in her own flat, alone, and cleaned herself up, and got a fresh one out of the packet and slid it under her.
She did the bottom tapes first. Then the top ones, flat on her back, where the fit was right.
Then she pressed the front flat with the flat of her hand and lay there for a second in the crisp dry thickness of it, on her own bathroom floor, with her knees up and her heart going, and she thought about Friday, and the car, and the field gate, and the countdown from ten, and she thought: five days.
She had never in her life been so glad of a Monday.
26-30, M