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Amber nodded her head understanding the situation before she could ask other question, Evelyn said, "Don't worry Valeria is fine she just has to keep her fingers out of her mouth and wash her mouth out with some Listerine before bedtime." Soon Tony came down carrying Sherry before sitting her down at the table, Amy came over and asked if everything worked out Tony said, "Yes I believe so, Sherry has got the idea that she can be a big sister to her little cousin, how's everything down here?"

I got a grocery run slated for this morning. I saw that Di Giorno, and some of the varieties of tombstone pizzas are on sale. I’ve kind of taken a liking to the french fry crust pizzas  I think that’s what breakfast is going to be  

9. Meat in the Park As we came close to the annual picnic in the park, I started wondering again about the one thing that Carter hadn’t had the courage to share with me. I wanted to be the best friend I could be for her, and I found myself skimming all the stories in my reading list again in the hope of weeding out anything that might have disturbed her if she had a truly unfiltered window into my reading habits. Sure, I had told her that these weren’t things that actually interested me; but I worried that there were some things depraved enough that nobody should be reading them at all. Eventually, I gave up on those worries. Some stories had disgusted me when I first came across them, but even those I’d been curious enough to read some more of. Trying to understand what somebody could get out of something so strange. I gave Carter an invitation to my reading list, knowing that in the worst cases she would see that I had started a story and abandoned it after only a couple of chapters. Each day, I found myself wondering which parts of my curiosity she was being exposed to, but she rarely said. A few times, I had commented on those stories, and I saw some of her comments in response, but none that gave me any clue as to what kind of things she was interested in. She shared my distaste for stories where an ingénue was introduced to kink in some way, and told that her submissive tendencies gave a dominant man or woman authority over her. I had commented on quite a few stories when I started reading that relationships like that sounded more fulfilling when the protagonist could enter into them freely, and it seemed that Carter shared those unpopular opinions. She knew more than I did, as well. Some of the words she used in her comments, I needed to look up; and that research took me to places I had never expected. There was a whole jargon used in real kink communities, around different ways to double check that everybody was enthusiastic and consenting even if they were in pain. I didn’t think I would ever need to know the terminology; I only read about these situations, and didn’t think I would end up doing anything like that in my own life. But it was still a little bit of curiosity satisfied, and it was good to know that people who did this stuff in the real world at least approached it in a more sensible way than many of their fictional counterparts. “Enjoying the reading list?” I asked Carter one morning, when she’d finished processing another batch of interim EMCR reports. “I saw some of your comments.” I knew that pushing her could easily make her feel defensive, and less likely to share; but I couldn’t contain my curiosity. “Yeah,” she nodded, and blushed slightly. “Are there any of those things that really speak to you? Or just going through everything that people have written about, searching for something that will strike a chord with your own desires?” “Just curious about… Well, how people’s minds work, I guess. I mean yeah, I’ve thought it might be interesting if I found something in one of those books I’d like to try. But it hasn’t happened yet. You?” “There’s things that might appeal,” she said, looking down like she couldn’t meet my eyes. “And there’s one thing… that I haven’t seen on your list yet. Maybe you’ve never heard of it, or it turns you off right away.” “Do you want me to read some?” I asked. “If you’ve got suggestions, I’m always open to new ideas. Finding out how different people see the world, if you know what I mean.” “I can’t just tell you,” she said, and she seemed all embarrassed again. “But maybe if I can find some stories, I’ll show you.” That was the best I could hope for, and I knew that I shouldn’t put any pressure on her. I’d never expected anything like this, but I guess she had some pretty big secrets of her own; maybe things she’d never found the courage to share before. And if expressing those desires just by showing me a few stories made it easier for her, then I guessed that was the best way to go about things. I wasn’t in any hurry, anyway; I could really see her friend now, and regardless of any feelings that I wasn’t quite sure about, I wanted to keep on being her friend. If she wanted to share things with me that she wasn’t quite sure about, she could do that when she was ready. * * * Upper Ashfields was a business campus, a town, and a community. In a lot of situations, it was hard to know where to draw a line between the company and the town. And most of the time we didn’t need to. Theoretically, the annual picnic was a company event, organised by the company to build solidarity between colleagues. But it was no secret, and the various people who helped to organise it were happy to invite anyone who wanted to come along, whether they worked for SYL or not. So the people who worked in the cafés in town might be there, and the doctors and shopkeepers; everyone involved in making a town like this a success. And I figured that had to be the right choice, because they were the people we saw every day, and they were the people we all knew. In practice, there was little distinction between those who actually worked for SYL and the people who just kept this little community running smoothly. I had looked forward to the picnic last year, the first one, as a possible chance to make friends. It hadn’t turned out like that, but there had always been the hope. This year, it seemed like the whole office was starting to feel that same excitement. Everybody was looking forward to the event, and chatting about what they could bring. I didn’t feel up to joining in most of those conversations; I didn’t know who might be willing to see me as a friend and who wouldn’t. But it helped me to look forward to it as well. Maybe this year, I could do a little better. Then, I started thinking about the food. Of course food was important for a picnic. Everybody in Fitzgerald was going to bring something to share. Some of them, I was sure, would be picking up pizzas from somewhere along the way. But I wanted to do something special. Something that people would actually remember. It didn’t have to be filling; I was sure that everybody could load up on potato salad or something if they had a big appetite, and several of the cafés that provided our everyday lunches would be sending food carts; so the Big Share would be a chance to show off, and an excuse to talk to people. Dr Lentz agreed that it would be beneficial to do something memorable. It would make an excuse to talk to my coworkers in future, and give them something besides work to talk to me about. Maybe it would even introduce me to people from other buildings, as there were sure to be enough people wandering around to make new friends. And people who wandered were more likely to be extroverts, unless they were political networking types trying to make specific connections for the sake of their career. Either way, they were people I’d be happy to talk to. So I had to try some slightly fancier recipes than usual, and choose something perfect before the day of the picnic arrived. Carter was happy to help me with testing my culinary experiments, and choosing which one would best impress our coworkers. “These are amazing!” she said, and immediately reached out to grab another from the tray. I acted on impulse, reaching out to gently slap the back of her hand. I don’t know where that impulse came from; maybe vague memories for a childhood that I’d thought lost in the mists of prehistory. And then I froze, realising that even a little tap could be considered inappropriate towards a friend and colleague. We’d known each other for a few weeks now, worked together on more projects than I could count, and cooked together more than a couple of times. But I’d still never seen the inside of her home, and any kind of physical contact was out of bounds. Even if I’d thought about something like that, I would have been too awkward to raise the possibility. “We should wait until we get to the table,” I said, hoping that she could overlook one little indiscretion. I should have apologised, I knew that; but I was too embarrassed to say anything. What was I going to say; that it was how my parents would have reacted if I’d tried to sneak food from the baking sheet? I could just hope she would understand that I didn’t mean anything by that. “Yes, Daddy,” she answered with a little giggle, and as she hurried through to the lounge I found myself blushing. I didn’t really understand the joke, but she didn’t seem too upset… I would have to figure it out some other time. But she was right about one thing: these barbecue cutlets were really good. We’d gotten into the habit of tasting one as we lifted something out of the oven, to make sure that it was cooked through, and then savouring the remainder as we watched TV. So there was no real reason for me to complain about her eating one more a minute early; it hadn’t been appropriate. Reminding myself that I was lucky she didn’t mind, I carefully transferred the rest of the little meaty treats to a serving plate, picked up a little plate for each of us, and then followed her through to the lounge. It didn’t take us long to decide that the recipe was just perfect. This was what we would be bringing to the picnic; our offering to attract new friends. They were so good that we barely thought about anything else. I don’t think I paid as much attention to the television as usual, and I thought that far from being offended, I’d never seen Carter in a better mood. That was something good for me to learn, I was sure. Good food, with just the right mix of sweetness and spice, was enough to take her mind off any mistakes I might make in the future. “I love these,” Carter said again, when she polished off the very last one. “They’ll be perfect for the picnic.” “I’m glad you think so,” I said with a smile. “Is there… I agree completely.” “Thank you. And maybe…” she started. As enthusiastic as she seemed, I couldn’t shake the momentary terror that she was going to bring up my treacherous instincts. I knew it had been too good to be true; and I didn’t want her to worry about saying what she needed. We should get that conversation over quickly, like pulling off a bandaid. “Maybe?” I asked, hoping she would understand that I was ready for her to say whatever she felt. “Maybe I should make some too!” she squeaked. “We could both try, so I’m not just depending on you all the time?” She was talking quickly, avoiding the serious conversation she was scared to start. But I didn’t want to push her, any more than I did for the good things. She would be able to talk about it when she was ready, and I promised myself I would never act so carelessly again. “You should do that,” I said aloud. “I’ll help if you want me to, or give you space. You should say and do whatever makes you happiest. Remember that.” “I will,” she answered, before she set off home. “I will. Thank you.”

112. My New Perspective “Mr Smith, was it?” Isaac seemed as jovial as ever, while Kernigan looked over the selection of comics on display. Perhaps he was astonished by the proportion of the displays where his own name looked back at him. He must have known that the guy was a fan if they’d chatted online, or just from the name of the shop. But I imagined it could be a little disconcerting to realise the depths of this man’s obsession. “So they tell me,” he answered, after a brief pause. “You can call me Mark if you want. That feels a little more natural.” “Thanks. And call me Isaac. Or FaeAdvocate if you prefer. But don’t go sticking all the numbers on the end of it, that just sounds silly. I’m still trying to guess who you are. Will I have seen your messages?” “Probably. But I’m told that I shouldn’t identify myself. Better to get to know each other naturally, as it were, without any preconceived notions standing in the way.” “And because I can think of someone who would be rather annoyed that I brought Mark here without asking,” I added, thinking of both of Jessop and the mass of interchangeable executive producers who were determined he would finish some work towards the movie this week. “Indeed. I believe they want me to be shut in a box until I’ve done everything they ask of me. But I think that some fresh air and new inspiration might help me to complete their goals more efficiently, and I’m sure that a few games will clear the cobwebs out of my skull as well.” “I hope so,” Isaac said. “Well, there’s a couple of people down in the basement setting up. I mostly stay here until the last member arrives before I close up. You can go and meet the regulars, if you wish. Or was there anything you want to look for while you’re here? I’m afraid I can’t offer preorders on Gold Ring; my copies are already spoken for. But I have quite an eclectic selection, and a wider range than most other shops in the area.” “Don’t worry, I’ve already got a copy of the full rings series promised to me. But you really do have an unusual selection. Not the bestsellers that you’d see in a high street chain bookstore. Even a complete set of Canon Flash, I see,” Kernigan said with a laugh. “You think they’re going to suddenly surge in popularity after so many years in obscurity?” “Stranger things have happened. And I always felt it was underrated. Maybe everyone else will realise that this year.” “You’re a very perceptive man, Isaac. And if I might make a recommendation… you could line up The Biker, the Don, and the Pope beside it. If they’re going to take off again, I expect that they’ll be flying together.” “You seem pretty confident about that. And you picked out Canon Flash from all the other obscure titles I’ve got on display, as if you second guessed my speculation. I wonder… Is Mark a real name, or one possible pronunciation of your screen name? I said I prefer to omit the numbers on mine, but I think that in your case, it might make a big difference to people recognising you.” “You got me. But I’m supposed to be travelling incognito.” “Okay, I won’t say anything. But you know I’m going to be re-reading a bunch of your old comedy series now, don’t you? Was that a legitimate hint, or a jab at the fandom’s attempts to second-guess what’s coming next?” “It could be both.” “It could. And now you’ve got me wondering how many of our friends will recognise you, if I just introduce you as Mark Smith. Is Tess coming tonight, Gabby?” “Tess?” I said, and suddenly struggled to catch my breath. Why would Tess be here? I immediately wondered if Ffrances had been inviting her along to the games night without me realising, but I worked out in a couple of seconds that couldn’t be possible. I knew when Ffrances was here, and in the past Tess had normally been keeping me company at home. So why would Isaac be expecting to see her here. “Yeah. She was talking about coming along to game night with her boyfriend. They’ve been in here a lot, buying each other gifts. Warms my heart to see a young couple getting on so well. She said they might be here this week, but I wasn’t sure if she’d postpone while Ffrances is away. I guess it’ll be easier for her if she gets a ride home.” “She didn’t mention it to me,” I said. “I wasn’t expecting to see her. Not sure if she’d help with keeping our secret plan secret, if you know what I mean. I don’t want her to guess something and let the cat out of the bag before I’m ready.” “Ahh, yeah. And if she meets Mark,” he nodded at Kernigan, “she won’t be able to resist telling Ffrances. But I think she’s still not on the forums, is she? So she’s less likely than most of us to know who he is. Still, I can see your dilemma.” “I’ll text her,” I said. “Better to let her know I’m here, in case it’s awkward. I’ll say I got dragged here by a friend from work, which is close enough to the truth, and that I’m able to give her a ride home if she needs it. She might decide it’s better to make her debut on another night, so she’s not joining your little group at the same time as a couple of other interlopers show up. Give her a chance to make her own first impressions, maybe.” I did my best to stay calm, and talk like this wasn’t such a complete surprise. I was fuming on the inside; I couldn’t believe that she already had people thinking that little jerk was her boyfriend. If everyone talked like that, she might start thinking it was true. I knew from my limited studies of psychology that you could start to believe a lie just from hearing it repeated often enough; and I didn’t want to risk my little girl’s understanding of her feelings to be contaminated by simple public opinion. But I could sit on those worries for now; after yesterday, she might have a much better idea what sort of person he was. And if it hadn’t happened yet, I could lean on the little jerk a little more heavily to ensure that he would only hurt her when I was there to pick up the pieces. I pulled out my phone, and texted Tess, just like I’d promised. I hesitated for a second, and added a little extra detail to the end. I was writing to her on XV, which had a couple of features that could be very useful to me. In this case, I flagged my message as time sensitive. There was no point bothering her with a message if she didn’t see it until it was too late to be relevant; so I set it to disappear from her screen and logs after five minutes. And I told her that if she was coming to the games night, she would be surprised to have an accident on the way here. That would remind her that she was still only a baby, I thought. Not old enough to be spending time on her own in a room of adults. She would be grateful if she knew. I didn’t want to be distracted by other messages; but I couldn’t help noticing that there was a new chapter of The Baby Button as well. Straight away, I wanted to read it. But I was here for a reason, and I didn’t want to be too distracted while Kernigan was getting to know Isaac. I needed to be present, attentive, and grateful if I wanted both of them to do their parts to push my plan forward. To give me the perfect little family that I had always dreamed of. I read the author’s note; it seemed that TheAuthorsLittleSister was working late, but she’d escaped her boss’s supervision for a short while and there was nothing urgent to do, so she’d found time to treat us to an extra chapter. That was why I now had two chapters to read. She said that there was a wedding in the story as well, and that got me more excited than ever… but I had to put off reading it just a little longer. Maybe it would be a good omen; I couldn’t know. A couple of people came into the shop and then down to the basement. As they passed through, Isaac said hi to each of them, but there wasn’t so much to talk about. Isaac and Kernigan kept on talking about the comics speculating about what the next fad might be, or where certain storylines might be going. I guessed that in a lot of these cases, it must be hard for Kernigan not to reveal things he already knew; but Isaac didn’t push him. They talked like they were just two fans making guesses about what they expected to see, and contemplating each other’s suggestions. For part of the time, they were talking about the works of other authors as well, and I had no idea whether Kernigan had any knowledge more than the man in the street; but their conversation was lively and animated, and I suspected that they had been real friends on their forums and mailing lists. A real connection, not just a fan and his idol. And some of the friends dropping in to visit the basement joined the conversation briefly, but they didn’t stay long. Eventually, it seemed like we had the whole crowd. Isaac walked over and locked the door behind one last guest, and then invited us downstairs to join the party. It was strange; I’d felt uncomfortable with this group when Ffrances had brought me in the past, but now I was actually excited about the evening ahead. For a minute I wondered if I’d suddenly developed an interest in card games; or if greater knowledge of Kernigan’s comics had led me to start trusting Isaac and his little cult of weirdos more. But that wasn’t true at all; it wasn’t the games that had captured my interest, but all the ways that Isaac and Kernigan could help me with a fantasy that had somehow become the most important thing in my life. I couldn’t wait to find out how fair their help would take me.

I have enjoyed the intense thrill  of pooping my pants in public a few times, when onle a few people are far enough away and with wide walkways  Compared to wetting, with the growing darkening and easily visible wet zone, to the potential observer, poopie pants are just a subtly expanded mound without any external staining, it would need to be close for others to notice at a glance. Also "public" is a very large area, so it isn't difficult to hold on until being somewhere public, which is a good distance from other people. Walking on the opposite side of the road to the couple of other people can provide that naughty thrill, with enough distance to make visual,or olfactory detection almost impossible. The act of pants pooping and pushing a worthwhile load into ones briefs takes a specific physical effort, maybe stopping, accompanied by involuntary expressions and changes of posture, which can be the greatest giveaway and will draw more attention than the expanding bulge, which can be reduced easily by sitting and squishing in the prefered direction..