Diaper References

Chapter 1 - The Fine Print Buzz. Buzz. The vibration was a dull, persistent drill against the wood of the nightstand. I groaned, my hand blindly scavenging for the device while my head remained buried deep in the sanctuary of my pillow. Without so much as squinting at the screen, I pressed to accept and brought the phone to my ear. "Hello?" I croaked, my throat dry from sleep. "Is this Josiah Morris?" The woman’s voice was warm, humming with a kind of gentle energy that felt out of place for a total stranger.  "Uhm, yeah. Sorry... who is this?" I rubbed my face, trying to kickstart my brain into some semblance of functionality. "My name is Tara Collins. You registered for the optional dormitory mailing list for international students. Is that correct?" I nearly tumbled off the edge of the mattress as I bolted up from the bed. "Yeah! Yes, that's correct," I blurted out. Across the room, my laptop screen remained lit. It was a graveyard of open tabs. Craigslist, student forums, shady Facebook groups. Every single one was a dead end. I was moving to another country for the first time in my life, and I had foolishly underestimated how hard it would be to find a place to stay. "Well," Ms. Collins continued, her tone shifting slightly. "It is perhaps not the conventional living situation you were hoping for, but I am currently conducting a longitudinal experiment that requires a student participant from abroad. As part of the study, you would be assigned a private dorm room in the staff building. However, the experiment also requires you to participa-" "I'll take it!" I cut her off, the words escaping before she could finish. At that point, she could have told me I'd be sleeping in a broom closet with a family of raccoons, and I still would have jumped at it. I was a week away from being homeless in a foreign city. "I wasn't finished..." her voice had sharpened, turning strict, yet it remained strangely calm. "I'm sorry. I apologize," I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. "It's just... I'll take it. Not to sound desperate, but I was half-expecting to be sleeping on a park bench by the time the semester started. I am more than willing to partake in your experiment." "Very well," she replied, and I could almost hear the sound of a mental checkbox being ticked. "I will email you the full dossier. I need the signed documents returned to me by noon tomorrow. Please, read the entire document before signing, as the terms of the agreement are quite... specific." "Of course, thank you so much! I'll get on it right away." I was beaming now, the kind of wide, aching smile that takes over your whole face. "Thank you again for this opportunity. I won't disappoint you, I promise." "Good to hear. Provided the paperwork is in order, I will contact you upon your arrival. See you soon, Mr. Morris." The line went dead. I threw myself back onto the bed, letting out a jagged breath of pure, unadulterated relief. The final piece of the puzzle had just clicked into place. In just four days, I would be starting my new life at MIT. It felt like a dream. Knock, knock. "Joey! We're leaving in five minutes!" my father shouted through the door, his voice booming with that 'don't-make-us-late' edge. "Shit," I whispered, the euphoria vanishing in an instant. In the chaos of the housing hunt, I had completely pushed my cousin's wedding out of my mind. I glanced at my phone and saw the notification chime: New Email – Ms. Collins. I stared at the attachment for a second. Noon tomorrow, I thought. I've got plenty of time. I tossed the phone onto the unmade bed and scrambled toward the shower.   The sunlight pierced through the curtains, as I woke up the next day. I fumbled for my phone, squinting against the glare of the screen. My heart stopped. 11:43 AM. Three missed calls. All from the same number. I scrambled out of the tangled sheets, my head spinning as I stood up too fast. I didn't even have time to brush my teeth before I hit redial, pacing the small patch of carpet in my room. "Hello, Ms. Collins," I said, trying to smooth the gravel out of my voice, praying I sounded like a functioning adult. "I am so sorry I missed your calls." "Hello again, Mr. Morris," she replied. "I was beginning to worry. I hadn't received the signed documents, and as I mentioned, the window for this specific placement is quite narrow." "Oh! You haven't?" I forced a gasp of mock surprise, the lie sliding off my tongue with desperate ease. "I must have... I think I left the window open on my laptop and forgot to hit send. I'll send them over right this second." "I see. Well, you sound certain of your decision, so I will take that as good news," she said. There was a brief pause. "I am looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Morris. See you soon." "See you soon, Ms. Collins!" I hung up and let out a huge sigh of relief. I dove for my laptop, my fingers trembling as I navigated to my inbox. I opened the attachment, expecting a standard three-page lease. Instead, the scroll bar on the side of the screen shrank until it was just a tiny sliver. "Fifty pages..." I whispered, clutching my head in disbelief. "Fifty fucking pages." I scrolled down frantically. I looked at the clock. 11:51 AM. I thought about the graveyard of open tabs on my browser. I thought about the "Room Taken" emails. I thought about the tiny, windowless broom closet I'd almost settled for. "I'll just read it on the plane," I muttered to myself, a mantra to quiet the screaming alarm bells in the back of my mind. "I'll have six hours of nothing but time. I'll read every single word then." With a burst of reckless courage, I typed my digital signature into the box, and hit Submit. Message Sent. The relief was instantaneous. It was done. I had a place to stay. I had a future at MIT. I stood up, feeling like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders, and headed for the shower. I had a flight to catch, a new life to start, and fifty pages of fine print that I'd definitely read later. The steam from the shower helped my brain fog, but it couldn't wash away the nagging feeling that I had just signed a contract with a ghost. I put on my best jeans, and the "MIT" t-shirt my aunt had bought me as a parting gift. It felt heavy on my shoulders, like I hadn't quite earned it yet. I shoved the last of my chargers into my carry-on and looked around my room. It was stripped bare. "Joey! The Uber is here!" my mom's voice echoed from downstairs, high-pitched and bordering on tears. "Coming!" I yelled back. The drive to the airport was a symphony of "Are you sure you have your passport?" and "Make sure you eat actual vegetables." My dad sat in the front seat, unusually quiet, his eyes fixed on the road. I could tell he was trying to be the  strong, but every time he caught my eye in the rearview mirror, his expression softened into something that looked a lot like fear. The farewell at the security gate was a messy blur of hugs and promises to FaceTime every day. As I walked through the metal detector and watched them wave until I disappeared around the corner, the reality finally hit me: I was alone. I found my gate and sat down. My eyes felt like they were made of lead. The stress of the morning, and the emotional drain of the goodbye were finally catching up to me. "Boarding for Group A," the intercom crackled. I had hoped to have some time at the airport to read through a bit of the agreement, but I couldn't focus on legal jargon right now. I just needed to get there. Once I was settled in my room, I'd have all the time in the world to figure out what it was all about. I shuffled onto the plane, found my seat, and buckled in. As the engines began to roar, vibration hummed through the floorboards, lulling me into a sense of false security. By the time the wheels left the tarmac, the 50-pages of pre-signed agreement was the last thing on my mind. The clouds rose up to meet us, and I let my head fall back against the headrest, falling into a deep sleep. Chapter 2 - The Nursery The vast majority of the flight vanished into a heavy, dreamless slumber. I had fully intended to look over the documents before we touched down, but exhaustion had proven a far more persuasive companion. She'll likely recap the whole thing once I arrive anyway, I reasoned, rubbing the grit from my eyes as I stepped into the terminal. I was just reaching for my phone to hail a cab when the screen lit up. Ms. Collins. "Hello, Ms. Collins? Is everything alright?" I asked, trying to force my voice into a state of professional alertness. "I was about to ask you the same thing, Mr. Morris. Mr. Jones just called, he says you never showed at the airport?" Her voice sounded worried "What? Wait... you sent someone to fetch me?" A wave of embarrassment crashed over me. I was already eroding the first impression I had spent weeks worrying about. "Yes... as per our arrangement?" The silence that followed was heavy. I could practically see her arching a skeptical eyebrow through the line. "Oh, yes. Of course. I mean... I must have missed him. Perhaps I was waiting at the wrong terminal?" I lied, praying my cover wasn't already blown. "Well, he is waiting out front with a sign that reads Morris. You can't miss it. I will see you shortly, Mr. Morris," I quickly found Mr. Jones, and soon we were weaving through traffic toward the campus. As the buildings grew more imposing, a swarm of nervous butterflies began to stir in my stomach. I had to physically pinch the back of my hand to convince myself this wasn't some elaborate fever dream. I was actually here. Ms. Collins was waiting for us in front of the main building. She was a formidable presence, her gaze determined, but her smile felt warm. Her hair was pulled back into a severe, flawless bun, and she clutched a thick leather folder to her chest. The agreement, no doubt. Stepping out into the warmth of the summer breeze, I approached her and extended a hand. "Hi, it's a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Collins," I said, offering what I hoped was an authentic, confident smile. "Welcome, Mr. Morris. I am so happy you decided to accept. I imagine you have a million questions rattling around in your head." "Oh, definitely. But I think we should just cross that bridge when we get there," I lied again, offering a quick smile to keep her from digging any deeper. "Fair enough. One step at a time," she said, her expression softening into something genuinely kind. "Now, Josiah, is it alright if I call you that? Come inside, let me show you around." Her voice was filled with a bright, welcoming energy that actually made my nerves settle for the first time in days. I followed her through the doors, my footsteps muffled by the thick, plush carpeting of a vast, silent hallway. Ms. Collins stopped near the end of the corridor, gesturing toward a pair of doors. "Your room is here on the right, and I’ll be directly across the hall on the left." I did a double-take. "Oh... you’re staying here too?" She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she turned to face me, a single eyebrow arching. "Josiah... you did read the full agreement, didn't you?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Oh yeah, of course!" I stammered, the lie feeling heavier by the second. "It’s just... I thought that door was the bathroom. That’s all I meant." She let out a short, melodic giggle, as if I had just told a particularly clever joke. I forced a jagged laugh of my own, trying to mirror her mood. She seemed to buy it; her shoulders dropped back into a relaxed, easy posture. "Well, I actually have a private bathroom connected to my room," she said with a calm, encouraging smile. "Since it’s your first day and you’ve had such a long trip, I’ll let you use it now if you need to." I wasn’t entirely sure why she phrased it like that, but I was too tired to care. I thanked her and stepped inside. The bathroom caught me off guard. It was pristine, but the decor was... different. A pink shower curtain with cartoonish bubbles surrounded a deep, oversized bathtub. In the corner stood an enormous, padded table. It looked exactly like a changing table, but it was massive, reinforced and scaled for a fully grown adult. I stared at it for a second, then shook my head and pushed the thought aside. After I finished, Ms. Collins insisted on a brief talk. "Before I show you the room, Josiah, I need you to be honest with me," she said, stopping at my door. Her voice was thick with professional concern. "It can be a lot to take in. Reading the protocol is one thing, but the reality of the immersion can be quite the shock to the system. Are you feeling ready?" "Absolutely," I said, trying to sound like the confident student she expected, despite not having read a single word of the fifty pages. She stood silently for a moment, her hand resting on the brass knob. She looked almost hesitant, like she was bracing herself for my reaction. Then, she took a steadying breath and pushed the door open, stepping back and looking away almost as if she couldn't bear to see the look on my face. I stepped inside, and the air seemed to leave my lungs. The room was a sensory assault of pastel blue. Murals of grinning bunnies, fluffy clouds, and vibrant rainbows danced across every inch of the walls. My gaze drifted from the whimsical art to the furniture. In the place of a desk stood another one of those massive, padded changing tables. And across from it, positioned like a cage in the very center of the room, was a crib. The bars were thick, reinforced and sized for a man of my stature. Panic flooded my chest. I turned and bolted. I scrambled back down the hall, my lungs burning as I burst through the front doors and out into the afternoon sun. I stood on the doorstep, gasping, looking out over the unfamiliar campus. I had no money, no flight home, and no one to call. The first sob caught me by surprise. "Can't believe I'm fucking crying," I hissed into the empty air, but my knees gave out anyway. I collapsed onto the stone step, burying my face in my hands as the weight of my isolation crashed over me. A moment later, I felt a firm, warm hand on my shoulder. Ms. Collins had followed me. She sat down beside me on the cold stone, pulling me into a side-hug. "I know, I know... it’s a lot to take in at once," she crooned, her voice smooth and calm. She began to stroke my hair with a rhythmic, calming motion. "I promise you, Josiah... it is far better than it looks. You just need time to settle in and let go." I just sat there, my whole body shaking, as the true nature of the 'experiment', and the contract I had so blindly signed, finally began to dawn on me. Chapter 3 - Far Away From Home We sat there in silence for what felt like an eternity. My mind was a chaotic blur of MIT, my parents' expectations, and that... room. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to be a man on a mission, starting a prestigious life in a new city. Instead, I was sitting on a stone step being held by a woman who had built a cage for a toddler and put my name on the door. The betrayal felt like a physical weight. I suddenly found the strength to move, shoving her arm off my shoulder and scrambling to my feet. "You’re sick," I spat, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and rage. I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw ached. "You’re a sick, twisted lunatic. I can’t believe you actually think this is... that this is okay." Ms. Collins didn't flinch. She didn't even look insulted. She simply looked up at me with a pained, confused expression. The look a mother gives a child who has just said something hurtful in the middle of a tantrum. "Josiah, please, take a breath," she said softly, her voice remaining steady. "I understand that the transition is a lot to process, but I don't understand this reaction. Less than an hour ago, you were telling me how excited you were to begin." Her words hit me like a physical blow. The memory of my own voice, eager and desperate over the phone, echoed in my head. Then, the weight of the fifty-page document crashed down on me. "I... I didn't read your stupid contract!" I yelled, the admission feeling like a confession of a crime. "Did you really expect me to sit through fifty pages of that legal gibberish?" Ms. Collins stood up slowly, smoothing out her skirt. "I mean... yes, Josiah. I did. I wrote every clause with absolute care and transparency specifically so we wouldn't find ourselves in a moment like this." She took a step toward me, her hand reaching out tentatively. "I wanted you to know what to expect." I didn't want to hear her logic. I didn't want to hear that she was "right" in a technical sense. I turned on my heel and walked. I didn't have a plan, a map, or a destination. I just had to put distance between myself and that building. "Josiah, please! Let’s just talk!" I heard her call out behind me. I didn't look back. I picked up the pace, my walk turning into a jog, then a full-out sprint. My eyes blurred with tears. My lungs burned and my legs felt like lead, but I kept going until the campus buildings faded and the streets became unfamiliar. Miles later, my body finally gave out. Exhaustion dragged me down to a wooden bench in a quiet, shadowed park. I collapsed onto it, gasping for air, barely noticing the elderly man sitting at the other end of the bench. "You look like you've seen a ghost, son," the man said, his voice gravelly and slow. I tried to pull myself together, wiping my face with the back of my hand. "Uhm, yeah. I just... I needed to get away." "Away from what?" he asked, looking out at the pond in front of us. I sat in silence, trying to find an answer that didn't sound insane. How do you tell a stranger you’re running away from a nursery? After a long pause, the man spoke again. "You can try to outrun your problems, son, but they always catch up. I know it seems like the world might be ending right now, but whatever you're running from... eventually, you’ll have to face it head-on. Take it from a man who spent twenty years running the other way." He gave me a firm, grounding clap on the shoulder before standing up. "Take all the time you need. Your problems aren't going anywhere; you don't have to face them until you're ready." I muttered a "thank you" as he walked away. The adrenaline was gone, replaced by a shivering chill. My MIT t-shirt was soaked with sweat and the evening air was biting. I curled up on the bench, tucking my arms into my chest, and drifted into a miserable sleep. "Hey. Wake up. You can't sleep here." A flashlight beam cut through my eyelids. I squinted, seeing the dark silhouette of a park patrol officer. The sun was long gone; the park was a void of shadows. "I’m sorry, sir," I stammered. "Don't you have somewhere you need to be, young man?" the officer asked. The image of the nursery flashed in my mind, the pastel blue, the bunnies, the reinforced bars of the crib. I cringed, a visceral shiver running through me. "I'll leave," I said, forcing myself to stand. "Look, I can give you a lift if you're lost," the officer offered. "Does your mother know you're out here?" "I live alone," I hissed, the word mother stinging like salt in a wound. "I'll just walk. It's not far." I was a "genius" starting at MIT, and here I was, wandering a dark city like a homeless person because I was too afraid of a bedroom. The cold was becoming unbearable. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. 37 Missed Calls. 18 Unread Messages. Please come home, Josiah. I'm worried about you. It's getting cold, dear. Please let me know you're safe. I've made dinner. We can talk about everything when you get here. I sat down on the cold concrete of a sidewalk, staring at the screen. I had no money for a hotel. I had no friends in this country. I could sit here and freeze, or I could call the only person who had a bed waiting for me. I hit the call button. She picked up in less than two seconds. "Josiah? Where are you? Are you okay?" Her voice was frantic, humming with that same terrifying, professional worry. "Please come back. We can talk about this, I promise." "Can you pick me up?" I whispered, my voice breaking "Of course, honey. Send me your location. I'll be right there." I sent the pin and sat there, hugging my knees. Less than ten minutes later, a white Toyota pulled up to the curb.. I didn't move. I just hid my face in my hands. "Josiah..." The sound of my name shook me to my core. It felt like I’d been caught in the middle of some terrible mischief, like I was a child who had wandered too far into the woods and was finally being found. I looked up. Ms. Collins was standing by the open car door. Her eyes showed no anger, no "I told you so." Only a deep, radiating worry. Without a word, I climbed into the backseat. Ms. Collins didn't try to force a conversation. She just closed the door softly, got into the driver's seat, and began the silent drive back. As we approached the buildings again I could feel my stomach twisting into knot. I looked over at Ms. Collins. She just gave me a calm, steady look, as if my midnight flight had been nothing more than a minor misunderstanding. We walked inside in silence. The hallway was quiet, but the silence was loud. When we finally reached our doors, she stopped and turned to me, her expression softening into something genuinely apologetic. "Josiah, I’m so sorry if this has been too much all at once," she said, in a low soothing tone "I’ve been so focused on my own vision, that I completely forgot to account for the person behind the paperwork." I looked at the door to the nursery, then back at her. I couldn't go in there. Not tonight. "How about you sleep in my room tonight?" she offered, tilting her head. "I can take the couch. I think you need a proper bed more than I do." I couldn't find the words to thank her. I just nodded. Her suite was a world away from the pastel assault across the hall. It was large, much larger than mine, and felt like a real home. There was a small, high-end kitchenette, a sitting area with a plush couch and a TV, and a sleeping area tucked away behind a wall of built-in closets that made the bed feel like a secluded nest. Without another word, she grabbed a spare blanket and settled onto the couch. I collapsed onto her bed, the sheets smelling like her, vanilla and laundry detergent, and fell into a heavy sleep the second my head hit the pillow. Chapter 4 - Imposter Syndrome I was awoken the next morning by the sizzle of bacon. For a moment, I forgot where I was. I sat up and saw Ms. Collins at the stove. She had already changed into a sharp, professional blouse and slacks, her hair perfectly in place. "Good morning, sweetie," she said, not looking up from the pan, but her tone was bright and friendly. "I’ve made us some breakfast. I hope you’re hungry." "Uhm, thanks," I muttered, sliding out of bed. The shame of yesterday’s outburst started to prickle at the back of my neck. I felt like a child who had thrown a fit and was now being rewarded for it. As if she could read my mind, she turned and offered a reassuring smile. "Let’s just forget about yesterday for now, Josiah. It was a long day for both of us. We can talk things through properly after your classes, alright?" I nodded, grateful for the reprieve. The breakfast was incredible, far better than anything my parents had ever made. After eating, I showered and changed. As I headed for the door, Ms. Collins handed me a sleek metal lunchbox. "I packed you a little something for later. Have a wonderful first day, Josiah." "Thanks," I mumbled, avoiding her eyes, and headed out toward the campus. MIT was everything I expected and nothing I was prepared for. My first lecture was Physical Biochemistry and Data Analysis. Within twenty minutes, I felt the familiar confidence I’d carried through high school begin to crumble. I had always been the smartest person in the room, the kid who didn't have to study, the one who saw the patterns before the teacher even finished the sentence. But here, I was invisible. The professor spoke in a shorthand I barely understood, and the questions from the other students were so abstract they made my head spin. The next class was Genetics, and it didn’t go any better. By the time I walked out of the second lecture, I felt completely used up. As I walked back to the staff building, the dread of the nursery returned. I froze at the end of the hallway, staring at the heavy oak doors. But before the panic could take hold, a warm, familiar voice came from behind me. "So, how was the first day?" I turned to see Ms. Collins. She looked genuinely interested, her eyes searching mine for an answer. "Uhm... it was good," I lied, looking down at my shoes. "Why don't you come inside?" she said, gesturing toward her suite. "I’ll start on dinner, and then I think it’s time we really talked things through." I followed her in and sat at the small dinner table. Ms. Collins went straight to the kitchen, the rhythmic sound of her chopping vegetables filling the room. "Josiah, I’ve been thinking about it today, and I feel absolutely terrible about how yesterday went," she said, her back still turned to me. The guilt in my stomach twisted. She sounded so sincere. "I hadn't fully considered how taxing it must be to move to a new country, only to have a complete change in environment pushed on you the same hour you land. It was so... insensitive of me. And for that, I am truly sorry." Her apology hit me unexpectedly hard. I felt the tears starting to prickle again. "You shouldn't be apologizing... you've been nothing but kind to me." Ms. Collins turned around. There was no professional distance in her eyes now, only a deep, radiant compassion. She walked over and pulled me into a soft, firm hug, resting her hand on the back of my head. "It’s okay, Josiah. Really," she whispered. "I think it’s best we’re honest with each other, so I think it’s important I tell you more about why I’m even doing this experiment." The hug lasted a long time. In the vacuum of her suite, the reality of the nursery across the hall felt like a distant fever dream, but as she pulled back, the weight of the situation returned. I was still a nineteen-year-old man standing in a professor's kitchen, and she was still a woman who had built a nursery for me. She didn't let go of my hands. She led me to the sofa and sat me down, her expression distant, as if she were looking at a version of her life that had never actually happened. "Growing up, I didn't want a PhD. I didn't want a laboratory or a faculty position," she began. "I wanted a white picket fence. A small farm with a few chickens, maybe a couple of horses, and a dog that barked at the mailman. I wanted a boy and a girl. I wanted the noise, the mess, the... the life." She smiled, but it was the saddest thing I had ever seen. "I met him when I was nineteen. He was everything I thought a husband should be. We were married at twenty, and spent every night dreaming about our future home. We didn't even feel like adults yet, but we were so ready to be parents. But just as quickly our dreams were shattered when the doctors told me I had a dysfunction. I would never be able to conceive. It felt like a death sentence. Not just for me, but for the dream we shared." She took a shaky breath, her thumb tracing the back of my hand. "My husband... he couldn't look at me the same way. The silence in our house became a weapon. I realized he was mourning a family I couldn't give him. I left him hoping that he would have a chance at the life I never could. I buried myself in academia. I moved to Boston, got my degree at MIT, and worked thirty-hour weeks on top of my studies, just so I wouldn't have to think about the dream I left behind." her eyes snapped back to mine "I thought I could out-study the loneliness, that I could find a different path. It was a hopeless endeavour… After I finished my doctorate, I was once again confronted with my deepest desires. I tried adoption, but the system is... unkind to single, career-driven women. Then, two years ago, I came across a series of papers on Neural Regression Therapy. It’s a study on how deep-stress environments, like the one you're in now at MIT, can be mitigated by allowing the brain to return to a state of total security." she paused “After that the idea slowly evolved… I knew how insane it sounded, but I couldn't push it away.” I sat in stunned silence.  I thought about my genetics lecture today. I thought about how out of my depth I felt, how small I was in this massive university. "The Dean allowed me to use these staff rooms," she whispered. "And then I found your application." We sat in the silence of the room for a few minutes.  Part of me felt like a pawn in her game. But looking at her, seeing her genuine pain, I felt a wave of compassion that caught me off guard. I cleared my throat, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I'm not... I'm not going to act like a baby, Ms. Collins," I said, the words feeling like they were being dragged out of me. She looked at me, her eyes hopeful. "But," I continued, feeling a mix of nausea and a strange sense of duty. "If it really is for the experiment... and if it makes you feel any better... I'll try sleeping in the room tonight. I'll try the crib." The words felt like a betrayal of my own adulthood, but the way Ms. Collins’ face lit up made the disgust easier to swallow. She leaned in and squeezed me in another hug, tighter than before, her voice muffled against my shoulder. "Thank you, Josiah," she whispered through a fresh set of tears. "Thank you so much.” Chapter 5 - The Pillow Fort As the evening wound down and bedtime loomed, the weight of my decision started to settle in. I knew I had made a deal, and I knew why she needed this, but that didn't stop the prickle of humiliation from burning the back of my neck. As I brushed my teeth in her bathroom, my eyes kept darting toward the corner, toward that massive, padded changing table. I caught myself imagining what it would feel like to actually lie back on it, and I cringed so hard I nearly choked on my toothpaste. I shook the thought away, rinsed my mouth, and walked into the hallway. Ms. Collins was already at the door to the nursery. She looked radiant, her eyes humming with a quiet, suppressed excitement that made me feel even more exposed. I took a deep breath, like a diver about to plunge into freezing water. As we entered the room I noticed a small, sturdy set of wooden steps next to the crib. I knew I could easily vault over the side myself, but I could tell she wanted to savor the process. I climbed the steps and lowered myself over the rail. I was surprised by the texture. From the outside, the wooden bars looked like a cage, but the inside was a sensory heaven. The bottom was thick, high-density foam covered in the softest flannel I had ever felt. It didn't feel like a prison; it felt like a pillow fort. I pulled the heavy, weighted blanket up to my chin and closed my eyes, trying to ignore the fact that Ms. Collins was standing just a few feet away, watching me with a look of pure, maternal pride. I drifted off faster than I ever had in my own bed. — "Are you awake sweetie?" The voice was distorted, crackling with a slight layer of electronic static. I bolted upright, my heart hammering against my ribs, only to realize I was surrounded on all sides by tall, wooden bars. For a split second, the primal terror of being trapped took over and a small, pathetic yelp escaped my throat. Then, I remembered. The nursery. The experiment. I looked toward the source of the sound: a baby monitor sitting on the changing table, its little green light glowing like an unblinking eye. I felt my face turn a deep, shameful crimson. "Yeah," I croaked into the empty room, trying to find my dignity. "I’m fine. I just... I thought I saw a spider." It was a terrible lie. I wasn't even afraid of spiders, but "I was terrified of my own bed" felt much worse. "I’m coming in," she stated. It wasn't a request. I scrambled to sit up. Fortunately, I’d been so exhausted the night before that I’d fallen asleep in my t-shirt and jeans. The door opened, and Ms. Collins stepped in, looking fresh and professional. "I wasn't sure if you were going to be awake, so I hadn't started breakfast yet. Here, let me help you out of there." Before I could protest or reach for the railing, she walked over and tucked her hands under my armpits. With a sudden, effortless heave, she lifted me clear over the bars and set me on my feet. I was completely stunned. I wasn't a small guy, yet she had handled my weight like I was made of straw. She must have been spending some serious time at the faculty gym since she got this study approved. "Shower up, Josiah. Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes.," she commanded. I didn't argue. I just grabbed a fresh pair of clothes and headed for the bathroom. The morning air at MIT was crisp, and for the first time, I felt truly well-rested. My first lecture was an intensive look at the thermodynamics of protein folding. I sat in the back, scribbling down equations. The material was still a mountain, but the brain fog from the previous day had lifted. During a break between classes, I found a quiet bench to open the lunchbox Ms. Collins had pressed into my hands. I stared at the contents. She had gone all out: sandwiches cut into perfect stars, grapes and carrot sticks tucked into tiny, color-coded containers, and a little note that said 'Have a super day!' with a smiley face. "Nice lunch. Did your mom make that for you?" I jumped, nearly dropping a star-shaped ham and cheese. A girl was standing there, freshman, probably, wearing a yellow summer dress and a matching headband. She had a confident, teasing smile that made my heart do a weird little flip. "Kind of," I said, scratching the back of my head. "It’s my... landlord. She’s a bit of a perfectionist. She just makes me lunch for some reason." I desperately wanted to change the subject before she asked if there was a juice box at the bottom. "You’re not eating? You know, lunch is the most important meal of the day." "I thought that was breakfast," she countered with a puzzled grin. "Yeah… I just made it up. I was hoping you wouldn't challenge me on it." She let out a genuine, melodic laugh. "Oh, you men. Always thinking you’re the geniuses. I’m Anna, by the way." "Josiah. Nice to meet you." "Nice to meet you, Josiah. Look, if your landlord ever feels like making an extra star-sandwich, let me know. But for now, I’m going to swing by Subway so I don't miss out on the 'most important meal of the day.' See you around!" I watched her walk away, a goofy smile plastered on my face. A girl. A real, gorgeous girl had talked to me. Maybe life at MIT wasn't going to be so bad after all. When I got back to the staff building, the sight of the hallway didn't trigger the same panic. I walked into Ms. Collins' suite and called out, "I'm home!" She wasn't there yet, but a note sat on the dinner table: Hello Sweetie, I have a long day at the lab. I’ll be back at five. I bought a little something for you, it’s on my bed. See you later! I walked over to the bed and found a massive LEGO set: Princess Peach’s Castle. I knew exactly what she was doing. It was another "regressive" trigger, another move in her game. But as I stared at the box, I couldn't bring myself to be annoyed. I used to spend every birthday and Christmas building these. Somewhere between puberty and college, I’d traded my bricks for an air fryer and a sense of "maturity." I popped the box open. LEGOs are for adults too, I justified.  By the time Ms. Collins walked through the door, I was deep in the zone, meticulously clicking the white bricks of the castle's first wing together. She walked up behind me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders in a soft embrace. "I see you already started without me," she teased. "I’m sorry," I mumbled, not looking up from the instruction manual. "I couldn't wait." "It’s okay, honey. I’ll get started on dinner. If you finish that section, I can help you with the rest later." Dinner was a blur of mashed potatoes and more "motherly" interrogation. "So, did you make any friends today?" she asked, pouring a generous extra helping onto my plate. "I met a girl. Anna. She seemed... nice." "Ooh, a girl?" She gave me a playful nudge. "Stop," I said, feeling my cheeks heat up. "She probably won't even remember me." "I highly doubt that," Ms. Collins said, her tone suddenly shifting into something more serious. "I spoke with the Dean today. She asked how the experiment was progressing." I nearly choked. I had almost forgotten that I was a data point. "And?" "I told her you were adjusting well. That you were... open to the process." she paused, her eyes making it clear that she was contemplating continuing. "Speaking of which… I was thinking about maybe adding a bedtime ritual. Nothing demanding.. Just... maybe that I read you a story?” I didn’t like the idea, but I also didn’t really care. If I was going to be here anyway, and she was going to watch me sleep... did it really matter? "Ehm... sure. I guess," I said. "But I can't promise I’ll stay awake for the whole thing." Ms. Collins beamed, a smile so wide it looked like she’d won the lottery. "Well, Josiah... that’s exactly the point." Chapter 6 - Pushing The Limits After dinner, Ms. Collins helped me click the final towers of Peach’s Castle into place. This time, I didn't need a mental pep talk to face the nursery. I walked in, climbed the steps, and pulled the weighted blanket up to my chin. It was starting to feel less like a surrender and more like a routine. "Would it be okay if I read you a story about dinosaurs tonight, Josiah?" she asked, already reaching for a thin, colorful book. "Sure." I honestly couldn't care less. Back home, I’d learned to sleep through the muffled roar of the TV in the next room and my parents’ bickering. A story about a Triceratops was just white noise to me. She began to read, her voice a steady, rhythmic hum. I didn't even try to follow the plot. Before the dinosaurs had even reached the watering hole, I was out cold. — Knock Knock "Good morning, sweetheart." The voice pulled me back to the world of wooden bars and pastel bunnies. I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, only to find Ms. Collins standing over me, her hands on her hips and her mouth set in a disappointed pout. "Did you sleep in your clothes again, Josiah? You know it’s not very hygienic." "Well, I usually sleep in my boxers," I snapped back, my voice gravelly. "But what do you expect when you come barging in here every morning without a heads-up?" "Can you at least wear pajamas?" she countered, ignoring my bite. "I actually have a one-piece set that’s very nice. Breathable cotton, high quality." I rolled my eyes. "A onesie?" "If you don't like my choices, you're more than free to go out and spend your own money on pajamas, dear," she said, her tone perfectly level. I slumped back against the padding. I had exactly zero dollars to my name and even less energy to go shopping in a city I didn't know. "Fine. Whatever. I’ll take it." "Thank you, sweetie. Now hurry up and get changed. Breakfast in ten minutes." I started to push myself up, but before I could get my footing, those firm hands were under my armpits again. In one effortless, terrifyingly strong motion, she yanked me over the rail and set me on the floor. I didn't even have time to be embarrassed before she was out the door, leaving me standing there wondering if I was actually getting lighter or if she was just becoming superhuman. The lectures that day were a grueling marathon of complex variables and molecular structures, but today was also the first Lab session. I was partnered with a guy named Philip. He was mostly quiet, but when he finally did speak, he had this dry, cynical humor that felt like home. We didn’t exchange details, but I knew this wasn’t the last I’d be seeing of Philip. After classes I headed back to the staff building in a genuinely good mood. I was fitting in. I had a lab partner. I was surviving. "How was school, sweetie?" Ms. Collins called out the second the door clicked shut. "It was fine," I replied, leaning into my best 'bored teenager' impression. "Oh, come on. Nothing exciting? Did you talk to that, what was her name again?” "Anna, and no, didn't see her. But I got a new lab partner. Philip." "It’s good to hear you’re making connections," she said, walking into the living area. "You know, humans are social creatures, Josiah. In the academic world, it’s rarely the 'dumb' people who drop out, it’s the loners." I rolled my eyes. Leave it to Ms. Collins to turn a friendship into a psychological survival metric. "I actually bought you something today," she said, her voice dropping into a hesitant, careful register. I knew that tone. This wasn't going to be another LEGO set. "It’s a new cup," she said, offering a small, half-guilty smile as she held it out. "Is that a fucking sippy cup?" "Josiah! Language!" She snapped, pointing a sharp finger at my face. "Look, it’s essentially just a spill-proof water bottle. I don't see why this has to be a 'thing.'" "You’re not my mom!" I shouted, the frustration of the morning finally boiling over. "And I told you already, I’m not acting like a damn baby." "And I’m not asking you to!" she shouted back, her professional mask slipping just enough to show she was just as dug-in as I was. "Yesterday you had no problem playing with LEGOs or letting me read you to sleep. I don't understand why this is the hill you're choosing to die on." "Because this is different! You keep adding things! Every single day it’s something new. Do you really think I haven't noticed what you’re doing?" "Josiah," she said, her voice dropping back to a reasonable level. "Have I ever forced you to do anything?" I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. Technically, no. She hadn't. "I’m not going to force you now," she continued. "If you tell me, honestly, that a plastic cup is 'too much' for you, I will put it away right now." I hated her at that moment. She knew exactly what she was doing, framing my refusal as a sign of weakness or fear. "Fine," I hissed, snatching the cup from her hand. "I’ll use your stupid cup." "Thank you, Josiah. It really means a lot to me that you’re willing to be a part of the process." At dinner, the cup sat next to my plate. It was blue plastic with a soft spout. I tried it, and... it was fine. It functioned exactly like a water bottle. Honestly, if it had a 'Stanley' logo on it and was made of brushed steel, it would be considered a lifestyle accessory.  I hated how much I didn't hate it. Later that night, as I prepared for bed, she handed me the "onesie" she’d mentioned. It was soft, thick cotton, but it was covered in characters from Bluey. "Really?" I asked, holding it up. "It’s breathable," she said simply. I didn't have the energy for a second fight. I put it on. It fit snugly, the fabric hugging me in a way that was undeniably comfortable. I climbed into the crib, the weighted blanket settled over my Bluey-covered chest, and Ms. Collins opened a book about a bear who lost his hat. As her voice began its nightly crawl into my brain, I let my mind wander. I thought about Philip, and Anna, and the way the stars looked over the MIT campus. By the time the bear found his hat, I was already drifting away, perfectly content in my snug, blue, wooden world. Chapter 7 - The Vagus Nerve The next day was another copy of the ones before it. I woke up to Ms. Collins barging in, I got dressed, I ate her breakfast, I sat through my lectures, and I ate my star-shaped sandwiches on the same wooden bench. But when I got home, the air felt different. I could tell she had something new up her sleeve, but she didn't reveal anything during dinner. I was almost starting to hope that she was done pushing the boundaries. But then, she opened the door to the nursery. My eyes went straight to the changing table in the corner. There, right next to the glowing green eye of the baby monitor, sat a large, yellow pacifier. My blood boiled. I opened my mouth to let the anger take form, but Ms. Collins cut me off before I could say anything. "Josiah, stop. I know exactly what you’re going to say. You’re going to give me the whole speech again about how you’re not a baby and how I’m pushing all these things on you." "Yeah, because you are!" I snapped. "Do NOT cut me off." Her voice rose to a level I hadn't heard before, a sharp, commanding tone that made my heart skip a beat. She took a breath, her expression softening but her eyes remaining firm. "As I was saying, I know how you feel. Which is why I didn't bring it up during dinner. I know how you feel about this whole thing, so I’m not going to push you." She gestured toward the table. "What I will say is that if anything in this entire regression experiment has been proven to work, it’s this. Why do you think every student at MIT has a chronic gum addiction? It’s because the rhythmic movement of your jaw activates the vagus nerve, calming the entire nervous system. So, I’m going to leave it right there. If you ever want to try it, you can do so on your own terms. Goodnight, Josiah." I felt my cheeks turning a deep shade of red. "I'm sorry." "That’s okay, sweetie," she said, her voice returning to that sweet, motherly hum. "But as I’ve already told you a million times already, I am not here to force you. I hope you know that." "I do," I whispered, looking down at my feet. "It’s just... every day it’s something new. I feel like I’m slowly losing myself." Ms. Collins stepped closer, her gaze filled with genuine compassion. "I know it’s different from what you’re used to, but none of this changes who you are. You’re still a brilliant young man studying Molecular Biology at MIT. None of this will ever change that." I hated how right she sounded. I climbed into the crib, feeling a small sense of victory that I hadn't succumbed to the yellow plastic on the table, and eventually dozed off. I woke up my mind racing with chemical structures from my morning lecture. I went to roll over, but noticed the flashy green numbers on the baby monitor. 2:23 AM. At the same time my eyes caught the silhouette of the pacifier sitting next to the monitor. For a split second, I wondered what it would be like. I quickly pushed the thought away and pulled the weighted blanket up to my chin. But I couldn't stop sleep I tossed and turned, the soft flannel sheets suddenly feeling too warm. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that yellow shell. It felt like it was teasing me. I looked at the monitor again.  3:14 AM. I still had plenty of time before I had to get up. My heart began to race as if I were about to do something illegal. I raised myself out of the crib and reached out, picking up the pacifier. It felt strange in my hand, the plastic shell was hard and clinical, but the silicone was incredibly soft. I pinched it between my fingers, contemplating. She wouldn’t even have to find out, I reasoned. I can just try it for a minute and put it right back. I put it in my mouth. It took a few seconds to find a rhythm, but once I did, a wave of peace washed over me that I couldn't explain. I finally understood why babies fought so hard for these things. I lay back down, the rhythmic suction pulling me into a different dimension where MIT and my missing identity didn't matter. I didn't even notice my consciousness slipping. — "Aw, you look so cute!" The exclamation jolted me awake. I rubbed my eyes, trying to figure out what Ms. Collins was talking about. Then, I felt it. The weight in my mouth. The plastic against my lips. I spat it out immediately, my face on fire as I tried to act nonchalant. "Oh, yeah. I was just... trying it out to make you happy…” I paused thinking of an excuse “I don't really like it. It’s far too... you know." "Yeah?" she asked, her eyebrow arching with a playful curiosity. "You know... it’s just not my thing," I lied, the gravel in my voice betraying my embarrassment. "Well, alright sweetie," she said, a tiny, knowing smirk. "But I really am thankful that you at least gave it a try." The rest of the day was a blur of lectures, but during my Lab session, I caught a whisper from the group at the next table. "Hey, Philip," I whispered, leaning over the beaker. "Do you know what party they’re talking about?" "Yeah, Laura Chester is throwing one tomorrow night," Philip replied without looking up. "Are you going?" "No, no… I don’t even.. Who even is Laura Chester?" "I don't know, probably some freshman with rich parents who haven't had their house trashed by drunken idiots yet. I hear half of campus is going." I had never been much of a party animal, but the truth was, I hadn't seen Anna since that first lunch. I was getting desperate to find her again. If she was going to be there, I had to be there too. When I got home, Ms. Collins had a cheeky smirk on her face the whole time. She clearly felt like she’d won the battle of the pacifier, but I was determined not to let her win the war. At bedtime, I climbed into the crib and stubbornly refused to look at the changing table. I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. She read the usual story, her voice smooth and calm, but I stayed rigid under the blanket. Ms. Collins knew I was still awake. "Do you want the pacifier, Josiah?" she asked. I didn't answer. I kept my eyes closed and pretended to be asleep, even though I knew she was probably grinning. "Well, in case you change your mind, I’ll leave it here by the monitor again," she whispered. I gritted my teeth. Did she really think I was that weak? I lay there for what felt like hours. I was exhausted, but my brain wouldn't shut off. The silence of the room felt heavy, and my mind kept drifting back to the rhythmic, soothing calm of the night before.  I fought it until I couldn't take it anymore. I reached out, grabbed the pacifier, and shoved it into my mouth. The relief was instantaneous. It was worth the humiliation, and less than a minute later I was fully asleep. — Knock. Knock. I woke up and immediately realized my mistake. I scrambled to hide the pacifier under my pillow just as the door opened. "Good morning, sweetheart." Ms. Collins looked at me, then her gaze drifted to the empty spot next to the monitor, then back to me. "Where’s the pacifier, Josiah?" "I don't know," I lied, my voice cracking. "Maybe it fell down or something?" "I don't see it anywhere," she said, her tone moving from cheerful to that disappointed, knowing maternal hum. "You know, you don't have to lie to me. I gave it to you for a reason. You don't have to hide it." I was never a good liar. I slumped back against the bars. "Fine. I used it. Happy now? But I only did it because I couldn't sleep!" The second the words left my mouth, I realized I’d accidentally admitted defeat. A slow, satisfied smile spread across her face. "Well, if that’s the case, then I think we’d better just continue using it. Right, sweetie?" I didn't want to admit how much I liked the idea, but I was tired of the act. "Fine," I muttered, trying to sound as disappointed as possible. Chapter 8 - The Last Stand The excitement of the party carried me through the rest of the day. I was convinced Anna would be there. After dinner, I started getting ready, combing my hair and splashing on the cologne I’d received for my seventeenth birthday. "And where are you headed off to?" Ms. Collins asked "A party," I replied. "Like a party, party? With alcohol?" Her voice was tight. I could tell she didn't approve. "Yeah, a normal college party” I replied with a cheeky smirk. "like those normal college students go to." "I’m sorry, Josiah, but I can't let you go. You know you’re not old enough to drink yet." The anger flared up instantly. Why did she always have to act like my mother? "I don't care what you think. You’re not my mom," I said, my tone cold and final. Before she could even process the words, I walked out and slammed the door behind me. The party was packed. The air smelled like sweat and cheap spirits. As I made it to the kitchen, a familiar arm wrapped around my shoulder. "Oh, hey, Genius!" Anna laughed. Her breath stank of alcohol, and her eyes were bright. "I didn't expect to see you here!" She remembered me. My heart raced. "Yeah, well... I heard things were going down. Thought I’d stop by." "Hey, have a drink with me," she said, handing me a plastic cup of yellowish punch. I’d never been drunk in my life, but I wasn't going to turn down a drink from her. I took a large sip. The alcohol burning my throat like fire. "Let’s dance!" she shouted, yanking me toward the living room. She was the main character of the room, moving effortlessly to the beat. I tried to mirror her, but I was stiff and awkward. After a few minutes, I pulled away to catch my breath and ran into Philip. "Hey, Joey! Didn't think you'd show!" he shouted over the music, handing me a tall shot glass of something clear. Against my better judgment, I downed it. It was horrible, but I wanted to fit in. I wanted to be the guy Anna wanted. I went back to her, but the world was starting to spin. "First time dancing, huh?" she grinned. She sat down and scooped us both more punch. Then she leaned in close, her voice a low murmur. "You know, if dancing isn't your thing, I know of another activity we could do..." My body screamed yes, but my mind screamed no. I wanted Anna, but I wanted her sober. I wanted it to be real. I pulled back and downed my drink instead. "Cheers, Anna." She got the hint. She stood up, her interest vanishing in an instant. "Anna, wait! Can I at least get your number?" She didn't even look back. I’d done the right thing, and the reward was a headache and a bruised ego. I decided to head home.  By the time I reached the staff building, the alcohol had fully set in. My head was swimming, and my bladder was screaming for relief. I waddled to Ms. Collins’ door and tried the handle. Locked. I knocked frantically.  "Ms. Collins! I really need to pee!" The door opened, and she stood there, looking at me with a cold, upset expression. "Are you drunk?" "Yeah," I admitted. There was no point trying to lie. "I seriously cannot believe you. You really think you can just go out partying against my orders and come back expecting me to just let you in?" "I'm sorry! Please, I just need the bathroom!" "I can't believe you," she said, slamming the door in my face. "Fuck," I whispered. I looked at the door to the nursery. I didn't want to do it. I told myself I wouldn't. But my bladder told me it was now or never. I burst into the nursery and scrambled to the changing table. It was stacked with diapers and pull-ups. I kicked off my pants and snatched a pull-up, dragging it on just as I lost control. The warmth was overwhelming. I watched in a daze as a dark yellow spot bloomed across the front, the pull-up sagging under the weight. "Ahem." I spun around. Ms. Collins was standing there, her arms crossed. "Get up," she commanded. "I—" "The changing table. Now," she said, her voice dropping into that strict, undeniable authority. She grabbed me by the armpits and hoisted me onto the table. I clutched at the waistband of the pull-up, trying to hide what I’d done. "Josiah, please," she said, her voice weary and disappointed. "Don't you think you’ve embarrassed yourself enough already?" I let go. I covered my eyes with my hands and began to cry, loud, ugly, drunken sobs.  I felt her rip the sides of the pull-up open. I felt the cold air, the wet wipes, and then a generous dusting of baby powder. Before I could even catch my breath, I felt something soft being pressed into my mouth. The yellow pacifier. I didn't contest it. I sucked on it desperately, my sobs turning into hiccups. As I looked down, I saw she wasn't reaching for my boxers or even another pull-up. She had a thick, crinkly diaper with Bluey prints on it, the exact same print as my onesie. I wanted to ask for a plain one, but I knew it wouldn’t help my situation. I just watched as she slid it under me and taped the sides tight. My last shred of dignity disappearing in an instant. She leaned down and lifted me into a hug, one arm under my padded bottom, the other holding me tight against her chest. She rocked me until my crying stopped, before laying me in the crib. "Sleep now, Josiah," she whispered. I didn't fight her. I just closed my eyes and let the rhythm of the pacifier take me away. As Ms. Collins’ footsteps faded down the hall and the door clicked shut, the silence that rushed back in felt heavy, almost suffocating. I stared through the wooden bars at the green light of the baby monitor. A few hours ago, I had been Josiah Morris: MIT freshman, molecular biology student, a man who wore cologne and chased girls at parties. Now, I was in a crib, the thick, crinkly weight of the diaper between my legs a constant, humiliating reminder of my failure. The scent of my expensive cologne was still there, but it was being drowned out by the overwhelming smell of baby powder.  I closed my eyes, a single tear escaping and dampening the flannel sheet. I reached down, my fingers brushing the crinkly plastic of the Bluey-printed diaper, as I slowly accepted the terrifying truth: I wasn't fighting the experiment anymore. I was becoming it.  

3.35 today at sams, was not buying today  

Thank you.  This story has always been about Ian's search for his daughter, which is obviously heading to a very violent conclusion.  For sure none of the bad guys are going to end up in diapers.

Yes, when I was 8 my mother came into my room to wake me up one Saturday morning and when she pulled back the covers she discovered me wearing a soaking wet Pampers diaper that I was in the middle of peeing in.  She told me to put on a shirt and shoes and meet her downstairs.  I came downstairs and she told me to get in the car. Then she drove me to the grocery store and when we got there she immediately led me to the diaper aisle and grabbed 2 boxes of Pampers and handed them to me while she grabbed wipes, baby powder,  diaper rash cream, a diaper bag, and a couple of pacifiers and led me to the cashiers. She told me to put MY diapers on the conveyor belt while she put the other things on thr conveyor belt while I tried lo pretend that I wasn't standing there in a completely exposed and obviously soaked diaper while getting dirty and/or confused looks from other shoppers. Mom paid for everything and drove us back home, we brought everything in from the car and she proceeded to change my diaper on the living room carpet then made me follow her up to my room and began throwing all my underwear in the garbage and replaced them all with Pampers, then cleared off the top of my dresser and turned it into a changing station and I spent the.next 2 years in Pampers 24/7/365.

However, in a way, I wished that the stain wouldn't come out and she would make good on her threat.  Then cousin Bonnie laughingly warned me about the time a few years ago when Aunt Meg punished another cousin who had ruined his good clothes by playing ball in them.  She said that Aunt Meg dressed him as a girl and made him stand on the porch all day while everyone made fun of him, and that I was next. I found this idea both scary and exciting. However, a short time later, Aunt Meg announced that she got the stain out and that my clothes weren't ruined after all. I actually felt a big let-down.   Lying awake in bed that night, I got the idea that perhaps I could really get my aunt to dress me as a girl by appealing to her hatred of ruined clothes and dirtiness.  I thought that if I went out the next day and really messed-up my clothes in a major way, she would certainly make good on her threats to dress me as a girl. The next morning, I set out on my bike and rode to the outskirts of an abandoned coal mine I had discovered the day before. I had grown used to not having any friends and would often just ride around alone on my bike exploring. I had mentioned my discovery to my aunt at the time, but she forbid me to go back saying that it was dangerous and filthy there. I had specifically selected my white jeans and a white shirt to wear that day, for maximum effect. (Furthermore, as I left the house, my aunt even warned me to be careful of my clothes.) I began operation "dirty clothes" as I dubbed it by climbing all over some old, rusty machinery and an abandoned car that was there. I figured I might as well have fun while I was at it.  Next, I rubbed pieces of earth and old coal all over my clothes, face and long blond hair.  Just to be certain I was messy enough, I rolled around on the ground in some dirt and mud. I thought the area was deserted, but I was startled to see an old man walking towards me. He said, "What the heck are you doing there, little girl?" I said quietly, "Just playing." He said I had gotten filthy and that I'd better go home right away, and that my mommy was going to give me a good "whipping." I jumped on my bike and peddled home. As I got nearer the house, some of the boys were out.  As I rode by they teased me, yelling things like, "Look at the dirty tomboy," and that I was in "Big trouble" for messing my clothes, etc. However, as I got to the house, I had second thoughts. I realized that I might have overdone it, that my Aunt would be furious, etc.  I got cold feet and decided to call the whole thing off. I figured I could climb through the basement window, sneak quietly upstairs to my room, hide my clothes, and take a shower. So I lowered myself through the window, listened for my aunt and cousins, heard nothing, and began tip-toeing up the basement stairs. All of a sudden the door flew open, the light came on, and Aunt Meg appeared at the top of the steps! I froze. Aunt Meg took one look at me and screamed bloody murder! Bonnie and April came running down. My aunt was livid!  She scolded me severely and demanded to know how I had gotten in that condition. I whimpered that I was just playing outside. She was furious and grabbed me by the hair.  She asked me where I had been, and I stammered that I was at the old coal mine. She hollered that I had been forbidden to go there, and that I was really going to be severely punished for this. I put my head down and started to go up the stairs but she pulled me back saying, "Where do you think you're going?" I said, "I'm sorry, ma'am, may I go upstairs now and clean up?" She said "No! Do you want to track dirt all over the house and make a complete mess of everything?" She then told me to take all my clothes off, that she would put them in the washing machine right there in the basement. I hesitated, and Aunt Meg began forcefully pulling my clothes off while Bonnie and April laughed and laughed. She quickly stripped me naked and threw my clothing in the washer. She then hurried me upstairs still naked and drew a bath for me, scolding me the all the while. Bonnie and April followed right behind, laughing the whole time. I was so embarrassed as I held my hand tightly over my tiny penis. Aunt Meg put me in the tub and began washing me very hard with soapy washcloth all over my body. I complained that it hurt, but she kept scrubbing me clean. She shampooed my hair three times.  She said that I was going to get a good spanking and punishment that I wouldn't soon forget.  She lifted me out of the tub and dried me off. Then she told April to bring in some of her clothes for me.  I couldn't believe it!  While we waited, Aunt Meg brushed my long hair. April returned with panties, a slip, and a dress!  I started trembling.  Laughing hysterically, Aunt Meg and my cousins began dressing me in the clothes. However, even though April was only one year older than me, her clothes were grossly too large, and did not fit me whatsoever. My Aunt seemed deeply disappointed but said that I wasn't getting out of it that easy. They thought for a few moments and then Aunt Meg remembered some clothes that another relative had given her for April a while back that were much too small. She had them in a box in the basement. I was then lead naked and blushing to the basement.  Aunt Meg opened the box and there were a few pairs of girls' designer-style jeans, some blouses, skippy sneakers, and a few packs of girls' underwear in small sizes. Aunt Meg said that these clothes just might fit me. She opened the packages of underwear and held out a pair of silky white panties with red polka-dots and lace trim around the waist and leg openings, along with a matching training bra. I was shaking all over as my Aunt ordered me to step into the panties. She then pulled them up in place. They all laughed hysterically. They were quite wearable.  I was extremely mortified, but I noticed a silky, exciting feel.  I was speechless as my aunt said that my boobies needed to grow more while she put the training bra through my arms and clasped it in back. April remarked that my face was beet red.  I was so mortified, I had tears in my eyes. (However, a part of me loved the humiliation and control they had over me.)  Next came a small pair of girl's designer- style jeans.   They fit me well, and gave me a very feminine figure, including a very rounded little butt and girlish legs.  April further embarrassed me by mentioning that she could see my panty-lines through the jeans.  Next came a soft white cotton blouse with a flowery print.  It was of very thin fabric and my training bra could be seen prominently underneath, which was pointed out by April as well. I was so mortified! There were no socks but my aunt had me wear the skippy sneakers without any. The three women continued to tease and taunt me. Aunt Meg asked my cousins to paint my fingernails, which they were more than happy to do. They sat me down an painted them bright pink. They had me remove my sneakers and did the same to my toenails. Then they applied pink lipstick to my lips. Then Aunt Meg combed my long hair in a very feminine style and put some barrettes in. They all said what a beautiful little girl I was. They stood me in front of a mirror so I could see too.  I was shocked to see that I really did look like a very pretty, pre-teenage girl! I was so incredibly mortified, I couldn't even speak! I just stood their in shock. Aunt Meg said that since I looked "so sweet", from now on my new name would be, "Candie", and I was a to behave like a very good girl, or else!  A second later, she looked at me sternly and asked, "What's your name again little girl"?  I whimpered, "Candie." She responded, "Candie what"? (I had forgotten that she had previously trained me to answer ma'am and sir.)  I said, "Candie, ma'am.  To which she said, "That's a good girl." After a few moments Aunt Meg announced that it was a beautiful day. Then she told me to go out and play.  (She really wanted to further embarrass me by making me go outside to be seen.) I pleaded and stuttered that I didn't want to go out like that, but she insisted I go outside and play or else she would, "Whip my bottom." Most reluctantly, I agreed to go outside. I surely didn't want any of the neighborhood kids to see me dressed as I was, so I asked if I could ride my bike, planning to go away from the house.  My Aunt said yes, but that I must stay close by and that I had to use April's old bike from now on, not my Stingray that I had brought down with me from home. She asked April to get her old bike out of the garage. It was a little girls' bicycle, with a flowery basket on the front and streamers on the handles. I protested, but Aunt Meg said it was very appropriate for me, and that it was going to be my bike from now on. Reluctantly, I took it out to the roadside. As I pondered my predicament, I saw a group of boys approaching from a distance.  I definitely didn't want to see them, so I began peddling the bike in the opposite direction. I rode quickly for about ten minutes and slowed down as I realized I was entering town. Unfortunately, the bike's chain slipped off the gears. As I tried to put it back on, I really noticed how striking my pink fingernails looked.  I was so nervous not to dirty myself or my clothes that I couldn't get the chain back on.  While fumbling with the chain, I was startled by a voice from behind me. Two cute but tough-acting girls about eleven or twelve-years-old were standing there and one asked what was wrong. I didn't answer, and she said that my chain was off.  The other one asked, "What's your name, kid?" I didn't answer again, so she repeated the question louder. I whispered, "Candie." They said their names were Sally and Beth.  They asked me a lot of questions like where I was from and how old I was, etc.  I said I was from New York and that I was thirteen. They said that New York was very far and that I looked awful small for thirteen, and was I sure I wasn't lying?  I told them I wasn't lying. Sally asked me why I was riding a little baby bicycle.  I told them I had no choice, that my aunt made me ride it. After a few more questions they said that I was "cool" and asked if I wanted to be their friend and join their club.   I didn't answer right away and they said that if I joined their club they would help me fix my chain. I said I would join. They said good, but first I had to smoke a cigarette for my initiation. I told them that I had never smoked before.  Beth said that all the big kids smoke and asked if "I wasn't chicken, was I?" I said no, of course not. (I really wanted my chain fixed also, so I agreed to go behind the nearby diner and smoke a cigarette with them.) When we got behind the diner, Beth took a pack of crushed cigarettes out of her pocket and very unskillfully tried to light one. In the meantime, Sally asked me how long I had been wearing a bra. Her question took me by surprise and I didn't know what to say so I replied a month. She bragged that her mother just bought her a bunch of real ladies' bras because she needed them so badly. Beth got the cigarette lit and handed it to me. I took a couple of puffs and that seemed to make them happy.  Suddenly, an older woman in a waitress uniform came rushing around from the other side of the diner.  Sally and Beth looked scared and screamed, "Run!"  I dropped the cigarette and the woman started yelling for us to stop but we all scattered in different directions.   I ran over to my bike expecting to make a get-away.  However, I had forgotten that the chain was off.  The next thing I knew was that another, much younger waitress from the diner had me by the arm and wouldn't let go.  She pulled me off my bike and held me as the older waitress, still yelling, came up to us.  She asked me what we were doing behind the diner and if we were smoking cigarettes. I was so scared that I couldn't even answer her. She kept berating me and a crowd began to gather.  Some people searched behind the diner and a boy found a lit cigarette.  He brought it over and the waitress asked if I had been smoking it. I whimpered, "No," but she asked, "Then how come it has pink lipstick on it, just like you're wearing?" She demanded to know where I was from and who my mother was. She said that she knew who the other two girls were and that they were bad.   She said she was going to call their mothers. I was so frightened, but I didn't want her to tell my aunt what had happened, so I didn't say anything.  She said that I was in very big trouble and I had better answer her. A big crowd had now formed as this was apparently quite a serious incident for the small town. She then said that if I didn't speak up immediately that she was, "Going to pull down those fancy blue-jeans that I was wearing and spank me very hard while everyone watched."